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TTHE  MAGAZINE  OF 
|»]f^OTHETIC  FICTIONS 


OCCENJS  / 

Canada  30  V 


Hugo  Gernsbaci^  Edit© 


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nath^^n^^hacBrer 


ARTHUR  L.-.^AGAT 


HE  TRAGEDY  OF  SPIDER  ISLAND 
y / V By.  -X  ■ 

\CAPTAIN,  S.  P.  MEEk>J.\S.  A. 


R.  fr  STARZL 


lowel^^ward'^m6iJrq>*- 


R.T.I. 


QUALIFIES  YOU  TO  MAKE  MONEY  AND  ITS  SERVICE  KEEPS  YOU  UP-TO-THE-MINUTE  ON 
THE  NEWEST  DEVELOPMENTS  IN  RADIO,  TELEVISION,  AND  TALKING  PICTURES 


R.T.1. 


A DAY  ' J 

Serincin^  and 
Tjepairitt^HadioSeU 


^5000"-“'^  ^^Year! 

AND  UP 

Tiadfo  Engineer  j 
forBroadcastmjSlMim] 


A WEEK 


'flamo 

Operator 


CCD 


KXXlraininff 

lirinffs^iff]obs 

\ike\hese/ 


JC  B S at  YourFingerTips 

WHEN  YOU  ARE  RT.I.  TRAINED  IN 

R ADIO'TELEVISION  "TalkingVMures 


Big  Pay  Jobs!  Spare  Time  Profits!  A 
Fine  Business  of  Your  Own!  They’re  all 
open  to  you  and  other  live  wire  men  who 
answer  the  call  of  Radio.  The  fastest  grow- 
ing industry  in  the  world  needs  more  trained 
men.  And  now  come  Television  and  Talking 
Movies — the  magic  sisters  of  Radio.  Will 
you  answer  this  call?  Will  you  get  ready  for 
a big  pay  job  Now  and  step  into  a Bigger 
One  later  on?  You  can  do  it  Easily  now. 

R.  T.  I.  Home  Training 
Puts  You  In  This  Big  Money  Field 
Radio  alone,  pays  over  200  Million 
Dollars  a year  in  wages  in  Broadcasting, 

Manufacturing,  Sales,  Service,  Commercial 
Stations  and  on  board  the  big  sea  going  ships, 
and  many  more  men  are  needed.  Television 
and  Talking  Movies  open  up  other  vast  fields 
of  money-making  opportunities  for  ambi- 
tious men.  Get  into  this  great  business  that  is 
live,  new  and  up-to-date,  where  thousands 
of  trained  men  easily  earn  $60  to  $100  a 
week— where  $1 0,000  a year  jobs  are  plenti- 
ful for  men  with  training  plus  experience. 

Easy  ToXearn  At  Home— In  Spare  Time 
Learning  Radio  the  R.  T.  I.  way  with  F.  H. 

Schnell,  the  “Ace  of  Radio”  behind  you  is 
Easy,  Interesting,  really  Fun.  Only  a few  spare  hours  are 
needed  and  lack  of  education  or  experience  won’t  bother  you  a bit. 
We  furnish  all  necessary  testing  and  working  apparatus  and  start 
you  off  on  practical  work  you’ll  enjoy — you  learn  to  do  the  jobs 
that  pay  real  money  and  which  are  going  begging  now  for  want 
of  competent  men  to  fill  them. 

Amazingly  Quick  Results 

You  want  to  earn  Big  Money,  and  you  want  some  of  it  Quick. 
R-  T.  I.  ‘‘Three  in  One”  Home  Training — Radio-’Television-Talk- 
jng  Movies — will  give  it  to  you,  because  it’s  easy,  practical,  and 


n rm  U trains  YOU  AT  HOME  FOR  A GOOD  JOB  OR  A PROFITABLE 
A ■ PART  TIME  OR  FULL  TIME  BUSINESS  OF  YOUR  OWN 


FRED  H.  SCHNELL 
Chief  of  R.  T.l.  Staff 

Twenty  years  of  Radio 
Experience.  First  to  estab- 
lish two-way  amateur  com- 
munication with  Europe. 
Former  Traffic  Mana^r  of 
American  Radio  Relay 
League.  Lieut.  Commander 
U.S.N.R.  Inventor  and  De- 
signer Radio  Apparatus. 
Consultant  RadioEngineer. 
Now  in  charge  of  R.  T.  I. 
Radio  Training  — and  you 
will  like  his  friendly  man- 
ner of  helping  you  realize 
your  ambition. 


is  kept  right  up-to-date  with  last 
minute  information.  In  a few  weeks 
you  can  be  doing  actual  Radio  work, 
making  enough  Extra  Money  to 
more  than  pay  for  your  training.  In  a 
few  short  months  you  can  be  all 
through — ready  to  step  into  a good 
paying  job  or  start  a business  of  your 
own.  A Big  Job — Big  Money — A Big 
Future.  There  is  no  other  business  in 
the  world  like  it. 

Investigate-*8end 
For  R.  T.  1*  Book  Now 
Don’t  waste  a minute.  Find  out  what 
the  great  Radio  Industry,  which  has 
grown  faster  than  the  Automobile  and 
Motion  Picture  business,  has  to  offer 
you.  Find  out  what  other  men  are 
earning.  See  How  Easily  You  Can 
Get  Started.  Get  the  facts  about 
Radio,  Television  and  the  Talking 
Pictures,  first  hand,  in  the  big  R.  T.  I. 
Free  Book.  Learn  what  this  R.  T.  I. 
“Three  in  One”  Home  Training  can 
do  for  you.  Mail  the  Coupon  for  Free 
Book  Now. 

Radio  & Television  Institute 
Dept.  ^66 

4806  St.  Anthony  Courty  Chicago 


Your  radio  coorao  has  enabled  me  to  earn  over 
$6UU  in, two  mufitljs*  spare  time  work.  Uoderstaad 
tbat  this  ‘Call  spare  timework,  as  I have  a perma- 
nent position  with  my  father  in  our  store.  I give 
YOU  all  the  credit  fur  the  above  and  as  1 aaio  be- 
fore, I wish  to  finish  the  entire  course  as  soon  as 


you  al 

fore,  

I can.— Your  student.  J . Nokfsinqer, 

Greenville.  Ky.  R 1.  Box  37. 


Salary  RaitQd  33 1*3%  Since  Cnrolllnc 

You  may  bo  interested  to  know  that  I am  now 
Radm  Service  Manager  for  the  H.  N.  Knight  Sup- 

61y  Co.  who  are  distributors  for  Evereaay  Radio 
eccivers  in  the  State  of  Oklahoma,  and  Texas 
Panhandle,  with  an  increase  in  salary  of  about 
33  1-3% . since  I enrolled  with  your  school. 

Thanking  you  for  your  interest  you  have  sbowa 
in  me,  and  your  wonderful  course.  I am,  Earl  P, 
Gordon,  61d  East  6tb  St..  Oklahoma  City.  Okla. 


Haven't  forgotten  you.  How 
as  high  as  S^.S.OO  per  day 
in  two  month  8 from  Radio 
when  I’m  onlv  19  and  in 
over  the  catalos 
and  you  did  at 
about  as  much 


RADIO  & TELEVISION  INSTITUTE 
Dept.766  4806  St.  Anthony  Court,  Chicago 
Send  me  Free  and  prepaid  your  BIG  BOOK 
“Tune  In  On  Big  Pay”  and  full  details  of  your 
three-in-one  Home  Training  (without  obligating 
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Name. 

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City State 


289 


WONDER  ST  OKIES 


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STUDY  CHEMISTRY 

The  field  with  a future! 


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With  this  portable  laboratory  you  can  duplicate  famous 
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Bat  a Chemistry  student  has  to  get  practical  train- 
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within  the  means  of  every  Individual  who  Is  Interested 
in  following  (Chemistry,  whether  as  a career  or  merely 
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TERMS.  The  one  price  covers  everything.  There  are 
no  extras  to  buy. 

Plenty  of  Money  in  Chemistry 

Why  talk  about  hard  times  and  lack  of  opportunities 
when  Chemistry  offers  you  a rich  variety  of  ways  to 
make  a fortune?  Every  day  the  papers  contain  news 
of  fresh  discoveries  in  Chemistry,  and  for  every  one 
you  read  about,  there  are  hundreds  not  recorded  as 
news  because  their  interest  Is  purely  technical.  The 
manufacture  of  steel  and  other  metals,  of  glass,  pottery, 
soap,  perfumes,  fertilizers,  dyes,  drugs,  celluloid  and 
explosives — paper  making,  the  tanning  of  leather,  toe 
refining  of  sugar — dairying,  meat  packing,  presening, 
sugar  refining,  and  the  preparation  of  hundreds  of 
food  products — all  these  and  a multitude  of  other 
activities  engage  the  skill  of  a chemical  army.  Don't 
you  think  there  Is  room  for  you  also? 

Chemists  are  w’cll-pald  employees  and  each  one  has 
the  opportunity  of  discovering  new  chemical  secrets  with 
a literal  fortune  as  his  reward.  Every  one  of  the 
lines  of  business  in  any  way  connected  with  Chemistry 
— and  you  can  see  that  there  are  thousands  of  them — 
has  brought  wealth  to  the  many  chemists  who  were 
associated  with  its  development.  Are  5’ou  going  to 
throw  away  your  chances  for  the  same  reward,  when 
schooling  in  Chemistry  can  be  so  easy  and  delightful 
as  it  is  through  our  course? 


No  Exaggerated  Claims 

This  Institute  does  not  claim  that  every  chemist 
makes  millions:  nor  do  we  guarantee  that  you  will 
immediately  get  a job  paying  $10,000  a year.  But 
many  have  done  it  and  there  is  no  reason  why  you 


r T r HY  should  you  spend  your  life  in 
the  hopeless  rut  of  the  untrained 
’ ’ workman?  You  know  that  it  holds 

no  prospect.s  for  you,  and  some  day  when  you  realize 
that  vou  Jmve  gained  nothing  for  your  years  of  labor. 
U wih  be  too  IfUe  to  puU  yourself  out.  NOW  is  the 
time  to  guarantee  your  future  by  getting  Lito  Ciiem- 

tuni’ties  for'"*a  comfortablo  living,  enjoyable  occupa 
tlun,  wealth  and  even  fame. 


Not  an  Industry  in  the  world — not  a factory,  mine, 
mill,  ranch  or  plantation  can  get  along  without  the 
services  of  chemists.  Chemistrj-  is  utilized  every- 
wliere.  and  so  many  new  lines  of  business  involving 
Chemistry  are  springing  up  dally  that  there  is  an 
actual  shortage  of  men  sufficiently  trained  to  fill  the 
best  positions. 


MR.  CHARLES  W.  SUTTLE,  .e?/  Forgan, 
Okia.  (at  left  on  top),  is  deeply^  interested  in 
chemical  research.  He  performs  his  experimental 
work  in  his  well-equipped  home  laboratory. 

MR.  O.  T.  D.  BRANDT,  of  Seattle.  Wash, 
(center  photograph),  is  an  analytical  chemist  of 
demonstrated  ability.  In  his  home  he  has  equip- 
ped a laboratory  containing  several  thousand 
dollars’  worth  of  equipment,  bought  entirely  with 
earni‘jgs  from  spare-time  work  while  he  was 
taking  our  course. 

MR.  VIRGIL  REDGATE,  of  Hutchinson, 
Kans.  (bottom  right-hand  photo),  began  doing 
professional  analysis  on  commission,  even  before 
he  completed  his  course.  . He  is  also  the  inventor 
of  several  devices  and  processes  used  in  photog- 
raphy. 


MAIL  THIS  COUPON 


DIPLOMA  AWARDED  EVERY  GRADUATE 

Upon  graduation  every  student  is  awarded  our 
Diploma  in  ChemlRtry,  certifying  that  he  has  success- 
fully completed  his  studies.  Your  name  on  this  cer- 
tificate will  be  a source  of  pride  to  yo\i  all  your  life, 
as  well  as  an  aid  in  obtaining  a position. 


I CHEMICAL  INSTITUTE  OF  NEW  YOftK,  Inc. 

I Home  Extension  Division 

I 19  Park  Place,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

* Please  send  me  at  once,  without  any  obliga- 
I tion  on  my  part,  your  Free  Book,  “Oppor 

J tunlties  for  Chemists,"  and  full  particulars 

I about  the  Experimental  Equipment  given  to 

I every  student.  Also  please  tell  me  about  yout 

I plan  of  payment  and  the  reduction  in  the 

I tRitlon  price. 

I NAME  - 

I ADDRESS  

L CITY,.... ST.ATE 

WS-9-30 


cannot  do  It  also. 

Get  a Start  Today! 

If  you  would  like  to  know  more  about  Chemistry, 
and  if  you  are  sincere  in  your  desire  to  get  out  of 
the  rut  and  if  you  have  ambition  enough  to  want  to 
become  a famous  chemist  some  day,  you  will  not  wait 
until  tomorrow  to  find  out. 

CHEMICAL  INSTITUTE  OF  NEW  YORK,  Inc. 

19  Park  Place New  York,  N.  Y. 


TODAY 

FOR  FREE  BOOK! 


THE  MAGAZINE 
OF  PROPHETIC  FICTION 


Vol.  2,  No.  4 


Publication  Office,  404  North  Wesley  Ave.,  Mt.  Morris,  111. 

Editorial  and  General  Offices,  96-98  Park  Place,  New  York  City.  ggp 

Published  by 

STELLAR  PUBLISHING  CORPORATION 

H.  GERNSBACK,  Pres.  S.  GERNSBACK,  Treas.  I.  S.  MANHEIMER,  Secy, 


SEPTEMBER,  1930 


Table  of  Contents — September 

THE  WAR  LORD  OF  VENUS 

By  Frank  J.  Bridge 294 

Across  thirty  million  miles  and  iifty  million  years 
they  traveled  to  battle  for  the  supremacy  of  a 
great  ivorldt 

IN  20,000  A.D.! 

By  Nat  Schachner  and  Arthur  L.  Zagat..310 

The  revolt  had  come  ...  but  then  the  great  Jed 
threw  over  that  mob  his  magnetic  Power  . . . 

THE  TRAGEDY  OF  SPIDER  ISLAND 

By  Captain  S.  P.  Meek,  U.S.A 324 

Against  those  monsters  the  rays  had  no  longer 
their  force  . . . and  xvhcn  the  tom-toms  began 
beating  , . . 

THE  KING  OF  THE  BLACK  BOWL 

By  R.  F.  Starzl 334 

Cut  oif  by  a wall  of  Nothingness  , . , the  great 
city  lay  helpless  . . . 

A RESCUE  IN  SPACE 

By  Lowell  Howard  Morrow 346 

Third  prize  winner  AIR  WONDER  STORIES 
Cover  Contest 

THE  TORPEDO  TERROR 

By  Edsel  Newton 356 

Across  the  nation  sped  those  dreaded  agents  of 
destruction  and  terror  . . . until  the  word  was 
flashed  . . . 

WHAT  IS  YOUR  SCIENCE 
KNOWLEDGE?  323 

QUESTIONS  AND  ANSWERS 369 

THE  READER  SPEAKS— LETTERS 
FROM  READERS  370 

ON  THE  COVER 

this  month  from  “The  Tragedy  of  Spider  Island,”  by 
Captain  Meek,  we  see  the  scientist’s  youn^  daughter  in  the 
toils  of  the  monster  spider  while  her  savior  is  attempting 
by  means  of  the  ray  tube  to  fight  off  the  gigantic  animal. 
The  animal’s  size  was  produced  by  means  of  the  secret 
treatments  of  the  girl’s  father. 


NEXT  MONTH 

THE  LIZARD  MEN  OF  BUH-LO,  by  Francis  Flagg.  This 
author  is  probably  the  master  writer  of  stories  of  time  and  di- 
mension traveling.  His  present  effort,  a dimensional  travel  story 
is  undoubtedly  one  of  his  most  unusual;  and  it  has  that  quality 
that  so  many  stories  lack — naturalness.  There  is  nothing  strained 
and  artificial  about  his  characters  or  their  strong  experiences. 
They  seem  human  and  the  things  they  do  are  real  and  convincing. 

THE  EMPIRE  IN  THE  SKY,  by  Ralph  W.  Wilkins.  Here  is  a 
truly  different  story  of  future  aviation,  the  kind  that  delighted  the 
hearts  of  future  aviation  lovers.  It  is  well  established  theory 
that  some  of  the  ancient  races — such  as  those  who  inhabited 
Atlantis — possessed  a tremendous  amount  of  scientific  knowledge 
of  things  of  which  we  are  ignorant.  If  the  catastrophe  that 
engulfed  that  unfortunate  nation  had  not  occurred,  perhaps  we 
today  might  be  in  possession  of  secrets  which  would  change  our 
entire  civilization!  In  this  thrilling  story  of  mystery  and  intrigue 
we  get  a picture  of  a nation  which  might  have  existed. 

BEYOND  THE  UNIVERSE,  by  J.  Harvey  Haggard.  This  is 
the  fourth  and  final  prize  winning  story  of  the  AIR  WONDER 
STORIES  COVER  CONTEST.  This  story  by  its  unusual  idea, 
illustrates  what  a stir  to  the  imagination  Paul’s  cover  picture  of 
the  February  1930  AIR  WONDER  STORIES  must  have  been. 

THE  WAR  LORD  OF  VENUS,  by  Frank  J.  Bridge.  The 
second  installment  of  this  struggle  for  the  domination  of  unknown 
Venus  brings  the  contending  forces  to  grips.  Our  intrepid  space 
travelers  have  become  separated  by  fortune  or  fate,  and  now  each 
of  them  is  engaged  in  a desperate  battle  for  his  very  preservation. 
Many  astonishing  things  are  due  to  occur  in  this  strange  world 
where  highly-trained  scientists  are  living  together  with  savages 
and  men  hardly  higher  than  the  ape! 

AND  OTHERS. 


WONDER  STORIES — Monthly— Entered  as  second  class  matter  in  the  Post  Office  WONDER  STORIES  Is  for  sale  at  p 
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16-17  King  William  St.,  Charing  Cross,  W.C.  2 111  Rue  Reaumur  179  Elizabeth  St.,  Melbourne 


290 


WONDER  STORIES 


291 


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THE  WAR  LORD  OF  VENUS 


JT  has  been  said  that  Venus  is  probably  in  the  same  stage  of  its 
^ evolution  as  the  earth  was  fifty  million  years  ago.  What  a fas- 
cinating subject  for  a story  is  the  experiences  of  interplanetary 
explorers  on  such  a strange,  young  world!  The  possibilities  for 
adventures  are  endless,  and  our  author  makes  use  of  them  to  con- 
struct a fast-moving,  breath-taking  mystery  story. 


{Illustration  by 
Marchioni) 


|E  were  lolling  in  Von  Kressen’s  library,  he 
and  I,  and  the  principal  topic  of  conversa- 
tion was  the  new  comet  that  had  been 
recently  discovered  at  the  observatory  of 
Paris. 

'Comets  are  funny  things,”  I informed  the  Von,  who 


had  at  one  time  been  head  of  the  ob- 
servatory of  Berlin.  “Seems  they’re 
made  of  gas  and  electricity;  isn’t  that 
right  ?” 

“Rare  gases,  yes.  And  it  is  true  that 
there  seem  to  be  electrical  radiations 
present  in  comets.” 

“And  its  tail  is  turned  by  the  press- 
ure of  sunlight.  Hmph!  Feathers 
haven’t  got  a look-in  for  lightness, 
compared  to  a comet’s  tail,  eh?  Say, 
how  does  light  get  that  powerful,  any- 
way?” I wanted  to  know. 

The  German  leaned  forward  in  his 
rocker.  “I’m  glad  you  asked  that  ques- 
tion— ^that’s  just  what  I’ve  been  study- 
ing for  some  time  now.  The  repulsive 
force  of  light  is  due  to — what  shall  I 
call  it?  I could  hardly  say  emanation, 
because  light  itself  is  an  emanation — 
but,  the  thing  is — a certain  ultra- 
violet ray,  the  identity  of  which  I keep 
secret  for  a reason  you  will  eventually 
learn,  possesses  the  power  to  repulse 
tiny  particles  of  matter.  It  is  the  pro- 
pulsive power  of  this  ultra-violet  ray 
that  turns  the  train  of  a comet  away 
from  the  sun.  I have  isolated  this  ray, 
condensed  it,  and  made  several  experi- 
ments with  it.  I found  that  the  action 
is  effective  only  when  electrical  vibra- 
tions are  combined  with  this  radiation. 
The  electricity  in  a comet’s  head  gives 
this  secret  ultra-violet  wave  the  power 
to  keep  the  gases  forming  the  tail 
pointing  away  from  the  central  luminary. 

“From  tests  made  in  my  laboratory,  I know  that  this 
ray,  when  isolated,  condensed,  and  combined  with  cer- 
tain electrical  waves,  has  the  power  to  lift  enormous 
weights  from  the  ground.  I have  lifted  as  much  as 
one  hundred  pounds  a distance  of  three  feet  from  the 
floor.  And  that  was  only  a small  apparatus,  and  not  a 
very  powerful  beam,  compared  to  the  tremendous 
energy  that  could  be  accumulated.” 

I was  silent  a moment.  “Whew !”  I exclaimed  then, 
“think  of  having  this  stuff  to  run  our  automobiles  and 
airplanes ! Would  it  cost  much  to  bridle  this  energy?” 
“No.  After  the  apparatus  to  accumulate  it  is 
constructed,  the  energy  itself  would  cost  practically 


295 


296 


W O N D E R STORIES 


nothing.  In  fact,  as  soon  as  I can  accumulate  more 
of  these  rays,  I expect  to  undertake  a voyage  to  the 
planets — Venus  first.” 

“Well,”  I laughed,  “I  suppose  you’ve  got  the  whole 
trip  mapped  out?  Probably  even  know  what  to  name 
your  star-flyer.” 

“I  haven’t  all  the  necessary  details,  but  I’m  going  to 
name  my  machine  the  Flying  Dutchman.” 

“And  the  public  will  call  you  Von  Kressen,  the  Fly- 
ing Dutchman,”  I opinioned. 

“The  public  will  know  nothing  about  it  until  it  is  all 
over.  First,  because  others  might  learn  my  secret  and 
beat  me  to  an  interplanetary  voyage,  and  second,  be- 
cause I don’t  intend  to  be  laughed  at  if  my  machine 
should  fail  to  operate.  Knowing  you  as  a writer,  Marx, 
I realize  that  you  will  be  aching  to  spill  the  story  to 
the  public.  Very  well,  you  may  narrate  the  events  of 
the  journey,  but  I absolutely  forbid  you  to  publish  the 
details  concerning  the  ultra-violet  ray  which  will  be 
the  propulsive  power  of  the  star-ship.” 

“Narrate  the  events  of  the  journey?”  I echoed. 
“Are  you  taking  me  with  you?” 

“Certainly.  You  wouldn’t  miss  an 
interplanetary  voyage  for  all  the 
wealth  in  the  world,  I know  that.  Be- 
sides, in  your  role  as  explorer,  archae- 
ologist, and  historian,  you  will  be  of 
inestimable  value  to  us.” 

“Who’s  all  going?”  I wanted  to 
know. 

“You;  Parri,  the  French  astron- 
omer; Throck;  and  I.” 

“When’s  this  going  to  be?”  I 
demanded. 

The  Von  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

“Date  indefinite — but  as  soon  as  I 
can  build  my  space-ship.” 

♦ * 

Four  months  passed.  I had  put 
in  the  time  exploring  a newly  dis- 
covered cliff  dwelling  in  Arizona,  which  dated  back 
about  six  thousand  years.  Then,  loaded  down  with 
ancient  pots,  vases,  spear-heads,  and  stone  axes,  I 
returned  to  the  Archaeological  Department  of  the  Na- 
tional Institute  at  Washington,  deposited  my  findings 
and  reports,  and  called  on  Von  Kressen. 

After  the  greetings,  I asked  how  the  proposed  trip 
to  Venus  was  coming. 

“Fine!”  he  assured  me.  “At  my  farm  in  Germany 
the  Flying  Dutchman  is  nearly  finished,  and  my  ray- 
reservoirs  are  filled.  A great  many  of  the  necessary 
machines  are  finished,  and  in  about  a month  I expect 
to  have  the  ship  assembled,  provisioned,  and  ready  to 
start. ' You’d  better  get  a leave  of  absence  immediately, 
else  they’ll  send  you  off  to  God  knows  where,  and  we’d 
have  to  wait  until  you  return  before  we  could  start  for 
Germany.” 

“Why  Germany?”  I questioned.  “Can’t  you  bring 
your  contraption  to  this  country?” 

“I  could  bring  it  over  here  all  right,  but  since  the 
coming  transit  of  Venus  is  invisible  in  America,  and 
since  I have  a definite  reason  for  starting  our  trip  during 
that  transit,  the  most  advisable  course  for  us  to  follow 


is  to  leave  for  my  farm  in  eastern  Germany,  where 
the  transit  will  take  place  exactly  at  noon  of  June 
eighth.” 

The  Party  Complete 

ACTING  upon  his  suggestion,  I presented  myself  at 
xjL  the  Institute  and  asked  for  a leave  of  absence  of 
indefinite  duration,  saying  that  a friend  of  mine  pro- 
posed a trip  to  a locality  he  forbade  me  to  divulge.  I 
said,  however,  that  should  we  find  anything  of  archaeo- 
logical or  anthropological  value,  I would  present  these 
to  the  institution,  provided  my  friend  permitted  me. 

The  Chief  raised  a big  kick  at  first,  stating  that  he’d 
had  a trip  to  Greenland  all  plotted  for  me,  and  now  I 
was  going  away  on  some  half-baked  expedition  and 
leaving  him  flat.  But  after  I had  argued  and  expostu- 
lated with  him  for  about  forty  minutes,  he  at  length 
consented  to  let  me  go. 

Immediately  I returned  to  the  home  of  the  astron- 
omer and  physicist,  and  informed  him  that  I was  free 
to  accompany  him.  Just  then  the  door  opened  and 
another  friend  of  ours,  Raoul  Parri, 
a French  astronomer,  entered. 

“Say,”  was  his  first  demand,  after 
we  had  exchanged  greetings,  “is  this  a 
pay-as-you-enter  proposition?  What’s 
our  fare  ? How  much  do  you  charge 
us  poor  devils  per  mile?” 

“Answering  your  first  question,  I 
may  state  that  this  is  a pray-zs-yon- 
enter  proposition,  and  therefor  all 
heathens  and  untutored  savages  are 
emphatically  excluded.  Since  I some- 
what doubt  your  ability  to  pray,  I am 
in  something  of  a quandary  as  to  the 
advisability  of  taking  you  along  on 
this  precarious  undertaking.  As  to 
your  fare — well,  let  me  see — I should 
charge  you  one  cent  a mile,  making 
each  ticket  $260,000.00,  but  I’ll  let 
it  go  for  a quarter  million  straight,”  the  Von  affably 
informed  us.  “Do  you  want  upper  or  lower  berth?” 

“Aw,  can  that  nonsense,”  I growled. 

The  Frenchman  turned  toward  me.  “He  said  he’s 
got  a wave — he’d  better  quit  hanging  around  beauty 
parlors,  don’t  you  think?  The  old  boy  is  fifty,  isn’t 
he?  And  yet  he  insists  on  having  a permanent  wave 
put  into  his  venerable  locks.  Young  ideas.  I’ll  bet  I 
could  count  all  the  hairs  on  his  head  on  the  fingers  of 
one  hand.” 

“Sure,”  agreed  Von  Kressen,  running  his  hand 
through  the  grey  mane  that  covered  his  head,  “if  you 
could  count  that  far.  Well,”  he  said,  business-like  now, 
“are  you  boys  coming  along  or  do  I go  alone  to  Venus  ?” 

“De  Milo?”  asked  Parri.  Then  to  me,  “We’d  better 
go  along  to  take  care  of  him.  If  he  sees  some  of  these 
proverbial  Venusian  beauties  sporting  around  in  Sylvan 
glades,  et  cetera,  he’s  liable  to  think  he’s  Apollo,  or 
Adonis,  or  somebody  else  of  that  clan.  I’d  hate  to 
think  of  some  mermaid  luring  him  to  playing  tag  with 
the  sharks.” 

Von  Kressen  spoke  up.  “There’s  one  more  going 
with  us — Dr.  Wilbur  Throck,  the  English  physician 


FRAHK  J.  BRIDGE 


THE  WAR  LORD  OF  VENUS 


297 


and  bacteriologist.” 

“Holy  Smokes  1 Are  you  trying  to  establish  a League 
of  Nations  on  Venus?”  I queried. 

“Throck  might  come  in  handy,”  replied  the  German. 

“How?”  asked  Parri. 

“From  what  little  we  know  about  Venus,  it’s  quite 
likely  that  the  existing  atmospheric  conditions  breed 
diseases  unknown  to  us  on  Earth.  So  if  we  have 
someone  with  us  who  is  versed  in  bacteriology  we  have 
a chance  of  overcoming  these  sicknesses.  Throck,  hav- 
ing a good  knowledge  of  terrestrial  bacteria  and  in- 
fusoria, can  more  readily  cope  with  any  strange  ones 
vve  may  encounter  on  Venus,”  explained  the  German. 

Raoul  turned  a wry  face  to  me.  “Hear  that?  Wants 
to  go  flying  around  the  stars  just  to  study  bugs  and 
germs.  If  I want  to  contract  any  disease,  I’ll  just  spend 
a couple  of  days  in  a nice  stinky  swamp  with  a bunch 
of  playful  mosquitos  for  company.” 

Presently  Throck  came  in. 

“Hang  it  all — do  I hear  correctly  that  you,  Mr.  Von 
Kressen,  are  contemplating  an  interspatial  voyage  to 
Venus?”  he  asked. 

“You  do  not  hear  correctly.  You  heard  correctly. 
I advise  you  to  wind  your  watch.  It  is  twenty  minutes 
since  I ’phoned  to  you,”  the  Von  corrected  the  new- 
comer. 

After  a minute’s  silence  during  which  Throck  di- 
gested this,  the  Englishman  spoke  up  again,  demanding 
what  our  host  meant  "by  “going  to  Venus — hang  it  all.” 
Von  Kressen  waved  us  to  several  chairs  and  prepared 
to  give  us  again  the  basic  principles  of  his  idea.  He 
said,  in  short: 

“I  had  always  wondered  what  gave  light  the  power 
to  press  a comet’s  train  away  from  the  source  from 
which  the  light  emanated.  It  is  commonly  supposed 
that  this  is  a manifestation  of  the  electro-magnetic  ac- 
tion of  light,  and  I believe  so  myself.  All  light  has 
this  repulsive  power  to  some  extent,  but  a certain  range 
of  ultra-violet  waves  possesses  this  power  to  a greater 
extent  than  any  other  wavelength,  visible  or  invisible. 

“I  managed  to  isolate,  confine  and  condense  these 
waves,  and  learned  that  if  a certain  range  of  electrical 
waves  was  sent  through  it,  this  ultra-violet  ray  would 
become  active  in  its  repulsive  power.  Its  intensity,  and 
consequently  its  action,  can  be  controlled  in  one  way 
by  the  kinds  of  windows  used. 

“In  a recent  experiment,  I succeeded  in  lifting  five 
tons  from  the  ground,  using  a gypsum  window  two 
millimeters  thick,  a comparatively  weak  ultra-violet 
beam,  and  not  the  best  range  of  electrical  rays.  This 
last  experiment  shows  me  that  it  will  be  easy  to  lift 
twenty  or  thirty  tons,  using  clear,  colorless  fluorite  win- 
dows one  millimeter  thick,  a powerful  ultra-violet 
beam,  and  a powerful  electrical  vibration.  This  leaves 
the  construction  of  my  space-flyer  a mere  matter  of 
mechanical  detail,  and  that,  as  you  know,  is  nearly 
completed.” 

There  was  a moment  of  silence,  during  which  the 
Von  permitted  the  weight  of  his  words  to  sink  into  our 
minds.  Then  we  scraped  our  chairs,  looked  at  one  an- 
other, then  at  our  host.  Presently  he  spoke  again. 

“Professional  jealousy,  I must  admit,  has  kept  me 
from  giving  my  invention  to  the  world.  I want  to 


amuse  myself  with  it  first,  then,  if  I desire,  the  world 
may  have  my  secret.  In  choosing  my  companions  for 
the  Venusian  voyage,  you  will  have  observed  that  out 
of  a dozen  fairly  close  friends,  I have  taken  only 
acquaintances  who  may  be  useful  in  such  an  expedition. 
I,  as  inventor  of  the  machine,  must  of  course  go  along. 
Raoul  Parri  here  is  to  take  control  of  the  space-ship 
while  I rest.  Dr.  Throck  can  take  care  of  our  bodily 
ills  during  the  voyage  and  on  our  sister  planet.  His 
work  is  to  inoculate  us  against  diseases,  if  we  should 
be  stricken  with  any,  provided  that  they  come  within 
his  scope  of  knowledge  and  study.  Kenneth  Marx  is 
taken  as  historian  of  the  trip ; and  in  his  knowledge  of 
archaeology  and  anthropology  can  inform  us  as  to  what 
races  of  people  we  may  come  in  contact  with — assum- 
ing, of  course,  that  there  are  human  forms  on  Venus. 

“From  his  experience  he  knows  considerable  of  the 
psychology  of  ancient  races,  and  we  can  prepare  for 
battle  or  peace,  whichever  he  tells  us  is  a characteristic 
of  the  human  forms  we  may  meet.  Lastly,  as  a veteran 
explorer  and  hunter,  he  can  give  a good  deal  of  in- 
formation as  to  geological  conditions,  botanical  life 
forms ; he  is  versed  in  the  symptoms  of  diseases  in 
different  climes,  and  as  he  is  an  excellent  shot,  can 
bring  in  food  for  us,  as  well  as  take  command  of  the 
party  should  we  brush  against  any  savage  tribes  on 
the  surface  of  the  yellow  planet.” 

I must  confess  that  his  enumeration  of  my  virtues 
sounded  good,  but  that  I am  a hypocrite  is  evinced  by 
the  fact  that  I acted  embarrassed  when  I was  in  reality 
enjoying  his  eulogy  of  my  prowess. 

Finally  the  meeting  broke  up.  Von  Kressen  remind- 
ing us  to  collect  the  clothes  we  thought  necessary;  as 
well  as  the  implements  and  tools  that  advertised  our 
professions.  I had  told  Von  Kressen  to  buy  a number 
of  heavy  rifles,  shotguns,  and  revolvers,  while  I took 
my  personal  guns,  and  managed  to  procure  four  auto- 
matic rifles  and  a machine  gun  from  the  War  Depart- 
ment of  the  Government,  after  proving  that  I was  a 
Government  employee,  bound  on  a dangerous  exploring 
expedition.  There  was  a good  deal  of  red  tape  to  go 
through — ^the  bothersome  official  wanted  to  know  where 
I was  going,  and  so  on,  and  I had  the  very  devil  of  a 
time  keeping  the  truth  from  him. 

At  last  my  share  of  the  final  preparations  was  com- 
pleted, as  were  those  of  my  companions.  The  Flying 
Dutchman  had  been  finished,  and  only  a few  of  the 
interior  fixtures  and  necessities  awaited  installation,  as 
I learned  from  the  Von,  who  had  received  a cable  to 
that  effect  from  a friend  in  Germany,  who  had  under- 
taken the  construction  of  the  star-ship.  It  would  take 
about  a week  more  and  we  would  sail  for  Europe  and 
our  Great  Adventure. 

CHAPTER  II 

Getting  Ready 

That  last  week  seemed  to  be  the  longest  I ever 
suffered.  Contrary  to  the  expectation  that  a lot 
of  last-minute  details  would  keep  me  occupied  and 
in  a flurry  of  excitement,  the  hasty  accumulation  of  my 
supplies  in  the  preceding  weeks  left  me  high-strung  and 
chafing  at  the  prolonged  inactivity. 


298 


WONDER  STORIES 


And  then! 

The  ’phone  tinkled  insistently.  I grabbed  it  eagerly. 
I reckoned  it  would  be  the  Von,  but  even  if  not,  any 
message  would  be  welcome  to  break  the  nerve-straining 
monotony. 

“Hello  Ken!”  came  the  voice  of  the  Flying  Dutch- 
man, as  I occasionally  termed  the  inventor  of  that 
machine. 

“Hello I shouted  baek  eagerly. 

“Come  over  seven  o’clock  tomorrow  morning  so  we 
can  take  a train  and  make  the  City  of  Weyland  from 
Norfolk  in  the  afternoon.  We  leave  the  States  at  three 
forty,  and  steam  without  a stop  till  Liverpool.  From 
there  we  take  the  yaeht  Gull  to  Bremen.  Then  to  my 
Bauernhof.  In  ten  days  you’ll  see  the  Flying  Dutch- 
man. Bye-bye.  Put  in  a little  sleep  tonight.” 

Despite  his  admonition,  I doubt  if  I slept  a wink 
that  night.  I heard  the  church  clocks  strike  every  hour, 
and  I don’t  think  I dozed  between  times  either.  And 
at  four-thirty  in  the  morning  I was  up,  washing,  dress- 
ing, and  gulping  down  a brief  breakfast  of  bread  and 
milk,  the  latter  still  cold  from  the  ice  in  the  milkman’s 
wagon,  and  left  scarce  ten  minutes  before. 

While  the  ensuing  two  hours  dragged  by  I gathered 
all  my  luggage,  ordered  a cab  for  a little  before  seven, 
and  waited.  At  last  my  watch  registered  fifteen  min- 
utes to  seven,  and  the  cab  drew  up  outside.  I charged 
out  of  the  house,  fired  my  bags  into  the  machine,  locked 
my  rooms  (my  little  cottage,  rather),  bounded  into  the 
car,  and  was  swirled  away  to  the  Von’s  home. 

Seven  minutes  later  I dashed  into  the  German’s 
library,  where  I found  him  conversing  with  the  im- 
patient Frenchman  and  the  bacteriologist.  As  soon 
as  we  had  greeted,  we  again  went  to  the  respective  cabs 
that  had  brought  us  hither,  and  were  driven  to  our  rail- 
way station,  where  we  waited  impatiently  for  the  train 
that  was  to  take  us  to  Norfolk  and  our  steamer.  Once 
on  the  train,  each  of  us  inventoried  the  various  articles 
he  had  brought  along,  and  then  assured  that  all  was  in 
proper  order,  we  begave  ourselves  to  silence  and  earnest 
reflections  concerning  our  approaching  adventure. 

Promptly  at  three-forty  the  ship’s  screws  began  to 
churn  the  water  beneath,  and  with  the  assistance  of 
several  tugs  we  left  the  harbor  in  orderly  manner.  I 
need  not  recount  the  five  uneventful  days  we  passed 
in  crossing  the  Atlantic,  for  each  one  of  us  had  made 
the  trip  at  least  once,  and  there  was  nothing  new  in  it. 
We  made  our  change  at  Liverpool,  and  early  in  the 
morning  of  the  eighth  day  since  we  last  gathered  at 
the  Von’s  house,  we  arrived  at  Bremen.  Here  we 
experienced  more  trouble  with  the  German  authorities, 
but  at  length  we  got  through  this  also,  and  in  the  fol- 
lowing two  days  we  traveled  through  the  length  of  the 
German  republic  to  the  Von’s  farm,  where  all  was  in 
readiness  for  our  star-trip. 

“Well,”  smiled  our  host,  the  morning  after  we  had 
arrived,  “I  imagine  you  are  somewhat  anxious  to  see 
the  Flying  Dutchman,  yes?”  He  waved  a hand  at  the 
barn  wherein  the  star-shell  was  kept.  With  Throck, 
Parri,  and  mysel|  chattering  excitedly,  he  led  us 
toward  it. 


The  Flying  Dutchman 

Arriving  at  the  structure,  our  friend  opened  a 
. door  and  led  us  to  a great  workshop  built  into  the 
barn.  The  room  was  about  forty  feet  long  by  thirty 
wide,  and  along  one  wall  lay  a great  thing  of  shining 
metal.  Van  Kressen  switched  on  the  electric  lights, 
and  then  led  us  toward  the  glistening,  submarine-like 
object.  Looking  at  it  from  the  outside,  it  was  slightly 
more  than  thirty  feet  long,  and  not  quite  spherical  in 
shape.  Rather,  it  was  flattened  on  top  and  bottom.  Its 
crosswise  diameter  was  perhaps  fifteen  feet,  and  its 
vertical  diameter  about  twelve.  At  each  of  the  rounded 
ends  was  a circular  window  about  two  feet  in  diameter. 
Starting  from  these  two  points  ran  four  rows  of  smaller 
windows  about  one  foot  in  diameter  each.  One  row 
ran  along  the  top  of  the  projectile,  another  just  opposite 
it,  along  the  ship’s  keel,  so  to  speak.  On  each  side, 
midway  between  the  top  and  bottom  rows,  ran  another. 
Circling  the  shell  in  the  middle  ran  a similar  row,  while 
about  five  feet  from  each  end,  just  where  the  flyer 
tapered  to  the  rounded  extremities,  another  row  of 
fluorite  windows  encircled  the  metal  monster.  Thus 
it  was  possible  to  discharge  the  repulsive  light  in  prac- 
tically every  direction,  creating  a propulsion  in  the 
opposite  way. 

So  much  for  outward  appearances. 

Within,  the  form  was  similar  to  the  outside,  though 
of  course  in  lesser  dimensions.  Its  inside  diameter 
measured  twelve  feet  horizontally  and  nine  feet  ver- 
tically, and  its  length  was  thirty  feet.  Between  the 
inner  and  the  outer  shells  was  a space  free  of  matter, 
but  which  contained  the  imprisoned  propulsive  rays. 
Von  Kressen  never  divulged  how  he  could  retain  a 
wave-motion  captive  like  matter,  but  I think  that  the 
chambers  into  which  the  ultra-violet  light  was  directed 
simply  reflected  the  waves  indefinitely  from  wall  to 
wall. 

Lining  the  walls  were  box-like  tanks  which  held  more 
of  these  rays  of  propulsion ; at  the  forward  and  at  the 
rear  ends  (I  say  forward  and  rear,  though  there  was 
no  distinction,  the  ship  being  built  to  run  one  way  as 
well  as  the  other)  were  air  tanks.  There  was  a unique 
sort  of  ventilating  system  within  the  car  also — the  air 
issuing  from  the  forward  tanks  was  slowly  swept  back- 
ward by  an  artificially  induced  draft,  and  the  bad  air 
we  exhaled  was  taken  baek  to  a sort  of  filtering  ap- 
paratus, which  divided  the  exhaled  gas  into  its  com- 
ponent parts.  These  were  later  reunited  in  correet 
proportion,  the  necessary  amount  of  oxygen  added,  and 
passed  forward,  where  it  was  released  again  for  re- 
breathing. Thus  we  could  breathe  the  same  air  over 
and  over,  without  discomfort,  and  only  a small  amount 
of  the  various  gases  had  to  be  taken  along. 

Running  along  the  sides,  the  top,  the  bottom,  and 
around  the  flyer  in  three  places  were  searchlights — 
anyway,  they  looked  like  searchlights — one  of  them 
under  each  of  the  fluorite  windows.  These  lamps  pro- 
jected the  repulsive  rays  and  the  electrical  waves  into 
space.  There  was  a shutter-arrangement  in  them,  so 
that  the  escaping  beam  was  ejected  in  a series  of  in- 
visible flashes,  each  “kick”  shoving  the  Flying  Dutch- 
man in  the  opposite  direction.  The  wires  controlling 


THE  WAR  LORD  OF  VENUS 


299 


the  lights  ran  behind  the  walls  or  .under  the  floor,  gath- 
ering under  a table  in  the  middle  of  the  ship.  The  top 
of  the  table  looked  something  like  a telephone  switch- 
board, for  there  were  many  numbered  keys  on  it,  these 
running  in  four  rows  in  the  direction  of  the  flyer’s 
length,  two  isolated  keys  on  either  end,  and  three  rows 
ran  at  right  angles  to  the  others.  Each  of  these  keys 
controlled  one  of  the  projectors  behind  the  fluorite 
windows.  A quick  press  on  one  would  cause  one  “ex- 
plosion” of  the  corresponding  lamp;  holding  the  key 
down  caused  a continuous  stream  of  emanation  until 
the  key  was  let  up ; and  if  a steady  flow  of  propulsion 
were  desired,  a little  metal  clip  held  the  key  down  until 
released. 

At  one  end  of  the  machine  was  a little  room  con- 
taining two  berths  and  a supply  of  food,  another  at  the 
other  end  contained  two  berths  and  an  equal  amount  of 
food.  In  the  central  room  were  the  armament  closets, 
bookshelves,  and  the  little  kitchenette. 

Our  survey  completed,  we  filed  out  of  the  ship  and 
turned  toward  the  Von. 

“Tomorrow,  at  noon,  gentlemen.  Noon — just  when 
VTnus  is  in  conjunction.”* 

We  nodded,  and  with  final  glances  at  the  metal  ship 
with  the  name  Flying  Dutchman  painted  in  English  on 
its  prow — or  was  it  the  prow  ? — left  the  barn  in  silence. 

Noon,  June  8th,  2004! 

Congregated  within  a well-lighted  chamber  in  a metal 
space-flyer  were  four  men — Ludwig  Von  Kressen,  the 
German  astronomer  and  physicist;  Raoul  Parri,  the 
French  astronomer;  Wilbur  Throck,  the  English  phy- 
sician and  bacteriologist ; and  I,  Kenneth  Marx,  Amer- 
ican archaeologist,  explorer,  and  author.  The  Flying 
Dutchman  lay  in  the  open  field  behind  the  barn,  about  it 
crowded  a curious  mob,  held  back  by  the  dozen  work- 
men Von  Kressen  had  employed  in  constructing  the 
star-ship. 

The  inventor  moved  the  intensity-lever  on  the  instru- 
ment table,  and  carefully  selected  the  keys  with  which 
he  would  open  the  voyage  to  our  planetary  neighbor, 
26,000,000  miles  away. 

Bong ! 

The  single  stroke  from  the  clock  on  the  wall  was 
the  signal. 

Confident  in  his  ability,  the  Von  pressed  several  keys. 
The  rocket  tilted  at  an  angle  of  about  45  degrees;  we 
clutched  at  various  objects  to  keep  from  falling;  then 
suddenly  the  star-flyer  leaped  upward,  jarring  us  from 
our  holds,  to  fall  into  a tumbled  heap  at  the  rear  end  of 
the  ship.  Von  Kressen  was  in  a sling  fastened  to  the 
operating  table,  and  so  did  not  share  the  misfortune  of 
Parri,  Throck,  and  myself.  Realizing  that  we  were  as 
well  off  as  possible  in  our  present  position,  we  three 
remained  there,  while  the  rocket  slowly  assumed  an 
angle  of  90  degrees  to  the  plane  of  the  field  we  had 
just  left. 

We  were  on  our  way  to  the  yellow  planet,  Venus, 
hidden  behind  her  veil  of  dense  clouds.  Yes,  we  were 
on  our  way — ^to  what? 

* Venus  is  in  a direct  line  between  the  earth  and  the  sun. 


CHAPTER  III 

Off  to  Venus  I 

Five  minutes  slipped  away.  Then  Von  Kressen 
looked  down  at  us  where  we  were  tumbled  against 
the  rear  wall  of  the  control  cabin. 

“Kenneth,  you  and  Raoul  go  down  into  your  room 
and  look  in  your  bunks.  You’ll  find  a sort  of  harness 
there ; put  ’em  on,  then  come  back  and  I’ll  tell  you  how 
to  use  ’em.” 

I crawled  to  the  doorway  of  the  rear  “bedroom,” 
which  Parri  and  I shared,  and  dropped  through.  Hang- 
ing from  a hook  on  the  side  of  my  upright  berth  I 
found  a belt  about  three  inches  wide,  on  the  outside 
of  which  were  many  small  quartz  bulbs  from  which 
emanated  the  now  familiar  repulsive  ray.  Over  the 
shoulders  fitted  two  straps  which  placed  the  ray-belt 
slightly  above  the  trouser  belt,  while  a number  of 
shorter  straps  could  be  attached  to  the  waist  belt,  keep- 
ing the  strip  of  bulbs  always  rigid.  The  whole  belt 
was  about  an  inch  thick. 

When  we  had  fitted  these  “harnesses”  about  us,  Parri 
and  I clambered  up  the  rope  ladder  that  dangled  into 
our  room,  into  the  central  cabin. 

“All  set,”  I told  the  Von. 

“Well,  do  you  see  that  metal  box  on  the  front  of  the 
belt?  If  you  want  to  rise,  move  that  little  lever  to  the 
right — ^the  faster  you  want  to  rise,  the  further  you 
move  it  beyond  that  middle  point  marked  ‘N.’  When 
you  want  to  descend,  move  the  lever  to  the  left,  toward 
‘S.’  And  when  you  want  to  remain  stationary,  wherever 
you  are,  put  that  lever  at  ‘Neutral.’  I just  finished 
those  belts  personally  yesterday,  so  I couldn’t  explain 
’em  to  you  then.  Now  suppose  you  go  up  to  my  room 
and  bring  down  the  belts  for  Throck  and  me?” 

Parri  and  I slowly  moved  our  control  levers  to  a 
little  past  the  Neutral  point,  and  slowly  we  ascended 
into  the  air  of  the  upright  room.  We  floated  upward 
past  Von  Kressen  at  the  instrument  table,  through  a 
doorway  above  our  heads,  and  then  we  shoved  the 
levers  to  N as  we  took  down  the  belts  hanging  on  the 
berths,  next  we  shoved  them  to  a little  left  of  N,  and 
gracefully  descended  again.  Parri  handed  the  Ger- 
man’s belt  to  him  as  we  drifted  down,  while  I came  to 
rest  beside  Throck,  and  assisted  him  in  adjusting  his 
harness. 

Then  I placed  my  lever  to  N,  and  moved  easily  about 
the  room,  propelling  myself  with  slight  pushes  on  the 
walls.  The  sensation  was  not  just  as  if  one  weighed 
nothing,  for  gravity  still  affected  one,  but  it  was  un- 
necessary to  exert  one’s  muscles  much  in  order  to  travel 
gently  from  point  to  point. 

The  Skipper,  as  we  distinguished  Von  Kressen  occa- 
sionally, had  adjusted  his  own  harness  and  now  crawled 
out  of  the  leathern  sling  that  had  been  his  seat. 

“We’re  doing  fine  now,”  he  said — “2,083  1/3  miles 
per  second ! In  eight  minutes  we’ll  have  gone  a million 
miles.  At  this  rate  we  should  land  on  Venus  in  3 hours 
28  minutes — about  three  and  three-quarters,  consider- 
ing that  we’ll  slow  down  while  driving  through  the 
planet’s  atmosphere.” 

He  wafted  himself  aloft  to  fuss  with  the  air  tanks, 
while  I,  curious  to  know  how  he  could  measure  his 


300 


WONDER 

speed  in  space,  floated  to  the  speedometer  and  the  vari- 
ous instruments  that  controlled  it. 

The  instrument  is  in  a way  the  largest  in  the  car. 
At  the  front  end  of  the  ship,  slightly  above  the  fluorite 
propulsion  window,  is  a lens,  which  can  be  turned  in 
any  direction  except  down  and  back.  Behind  the  lens 
is  a small  telescope,  which  was  now  fixed  on  the  sun, 
and  some  inches  from  the  eyepiece  was  a screen,  on 
which  was  thrown  an  image  of  the  luminary.  Cross- 
ing the  screen  in  the  middle,  at  right  angles  to  each 
other  are  two  wires  of  a greyish  metal  which  the  Von 
later  told  me  are  selenium.  Fastened  to  the  under  side 
of  the  wires,  and  leading  out  of  the  screen  through  an 
almost  invisible  slit,  are  a number  of  very,  very  fine 
silver  wires,  which  run  to  an  electric  calculator  the 
iVon  had  devised.  The  most  important  part  of  this 
calculating  machine  is  a clock,  which  is  connecte^  to 
the  various  other  parts  of  the  machine.  From  the 
clock  on  the  wall  of  the  cabin,  other  connections  lead 
to  the  calculator.  The  figures  which  the  machine  auto- 
matically clips  out  are  reproduced  on  two  dials  on  the 
instrument  board,  the  one  giving  the  distance  traveled, 
and  the  other  the  speed. 

My  inspection  of  this  apparatus  finished,  I gave  my- 
self a shove  and  glided  toward  the  Von,  who  was 
shoving  aside  a metal,  circular  plate  on  the  wall.  Then 
he  touched  a button,  and  another  plate  outside  the  ship 
flew  back,  enabling  us  to  see  beyond,  into  the  starry 
void  without. 

Rapidly  dropping  away  from  our  stern  was  the 
Earth,  a gigantic  disk,  of  which  we  could  see  about 
half,  from  our  position  high  up  on  the  side  of  the  ship, 
filling  about  a third  of  the  window.  In  a few  seconds 
it  sank  from  our  view  altogether,  and  we  looked  only 
on  the  multitude  of  stars  that  shone  steadily  through 
the  eternal  night. 

The  Landing! 

A MINUTE  passed  since  we  had  reached  the  pace 
that  the  Skipper  would  maintain  throughout  the 
journey — 2,083  1/3  miles  a second — and  the  distance 
meter  informed  us  that  we  had  gone  125,000  miles  in 
that  time.  The  thought  stunned  me.  Five  times  around 
the  Earth  at  the  equator,  in  one  minute! 

That  minute  drew  itself  out  into  two,  three,  four, 
five — eight  minutes,  and  a million  miles  had  slipped 
away  beneath  us.  Throck,  Parri,  and  I floated  before 
a number  of  “open”  windowlj^  and  regarded  the  star- 
strewn  depths  of  infinity  that  yawned  on  every  hand; 
the  Skipper  hovered  between  the  instrument  table  and 
the  eyepiece  of  a long  refracting  telescope  that  aided 
him  in  steering  the  Flying]  Dutchman  through  the 
Cimmerian  void. 

Thus  the  minutes  dragged  themselves  into  an  hour, 
that  hour  into  another,  and  presently  into  another.  We 
grew  excited  again  as  we  realized  that  another  half 
hour  would  find  us  plunging  through  the  atmosphere  of 
our  sister  planet,  now  less  than  four  million  miles  away 
from  our  projectile.  Now  the  Skipper  began  “explod- 
ing” the  forward  lights  to  act  as  brakes,  and  our  per 
second  speed,  in  fifteen  minutes,  decreased  to  five  hun- 
dred miles.  The  rear  lights  were  shut  off  altogether, 
and  only  the  forward  projector  was  used,  so  that  we 


STORIES 

entered  the  upper  strata  of  the  Venusian  atmosphere 
at  the  easy  rate  of  one  mile  a second. 

Came  a dive  through  two  hundred  miles  of  air,  and 
then  we  struck  the  water  of  a great  sea  fading  away  on 
every  side  to  a cloud-veiled  horizon  we  knew  not  how 
distant,  but  which  we  knew  must  be  about  as  far  as  a 
Terrestrial  horizon  because  of  Venus’s  similar 
dimensions. 

“A  perfect  trip,  fellow-voyagers ! Three  hours, 
forty-six  minutes,  and  thirty-seven  seconds  to  travel 
26,010,713  miles.  We  will  drive  along  the  surface  of 
this  sea  until  we  find  some  solid  ground  upon  which 
we  can  disembark  and  set  foot  for  the  first  time  upon 
this  planet,  whose  dense  clouds  have  veiled  her  in  per- 
petual mystery.” 

So  spoke  Von  Kressen  to  us  where  we  stared  out  of 
the  portholes  at  the  restless,  slowly  swelling  sea  that 
lay  about  us.  He  touched  the  button  that  controlled  the 
propulsive  ray  of  the  rear  fluorite  window,  and  we 
glided  forward  while  the  grey  waters  behind  were 
churned  and  sprayed  and  torn  by  the  power  of  the 
mysterious,  though  common  emanation  that  our  captain 
had  made  his  obedient  slave. 

“Hang  it  all — give  us  some  of  the  salient  facts  about 
Venus,”  suggested  Throck,  “so  that  we  can  prepare 
ourselves  for  the  unusual  conditions  existing  upon  this 
planet.” 

“Venus,”  began  the  Von  obligingly,  “is  the  second 
planet  of  the  Solar  system,  for  as  yet  no  one  has  proved 
the  existence  of  the  mythical  Vulcan,  which  was  at 
one  time  supposed  to  revolve  about  the  sun  within  the 
orbit  of  Mercury.  Venus  is  7,700  miles  in  diameter, 
is  67,200,000  miles  distant  from  the  sun,  revolves  about 
it  in  225  of  our  days,  and  its  own  day  is  23  hours,  21 
minutes  long.  The  inclination  of  its  axis  is  level  with 
the  plane  of  its  orbit,  that  is  to  say,  the  planet  rolls 
on  its  side  like  a ball,  so  to  speak,  and  always  keeps  its 
poles  pointing  in  one  direction.  Thus  at  one  point  of 
its  orbit,  the  planet’s  North  pole  is  pointed  directly  at 
the  sun,  and  is  the  hottest  part  of  the  globe.  At  the 
immediately  opposite  side  of  the  orbit  the  South  pole 
points  directly  at  the  sun,  while  halfway  between  these 
two  points  the  equator  reaches  the  place  nearest  the 
great  luminary.  It  is  presumed  to  harbor  creatures 
such  as  existed  on  our  own  Earth  in  past  ages,  but  this 
assumption  has  yet  to  be  verified.” 

“It  is  verified,”  broke  in  Parri,  pointing  out  of  a 
window,  “Look!” 

We  crowded  about  him  and  looked  out  over  the 
water.  Twenty  feet  distant  from  us  a shovel-shaped 
head  towered  and  swayed  on  top  of  a long,  thin,  snake- 
like neck.  It  was  the  first  living  plesiosaurus  that  I had 
ever  seen,  but  I had  to  marvel  how  our  paleontologists 
had  succeeded  in  reconstructing  this  creature  with  such 
wonderful  accuracy. 

Suddenly  another  creature  shot  down  from  the  low- 
lying,  rain-filled  clouds;  a gigantic  pterodactyl,  with  a 
perfectly  enormous  wing-spread.  Fully  seventy  feet 
stretched  the  great  wings,  as  their  possessor  shot  at  the 
long  neck  of  the  plesiosaur.  But  the  other  dived  its 
head  and  neck  under  the  water,  there  came  the  churn 
of  the  great  flaps,  and  the  creature  was  gone.  The 
long,  toothed  jaw  of  the  flying  lizard  entered  the  water 


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301 


after  the  sea-reptile,  apparently  found  a hold,  and  in  a 
moment  the  entire  pterodactyl  had  followed  the  other 
into  the  ocean.  A moment  later  the  attacker  reappeared 
on  the  surface  of  the  water,  stretched  its  leathery  wings, 
and  soared  away  with  a good-sized  chunk  of  meat  in 
its  dripping  beak. 

“Say,  don’t  you  think  we’d  better  get  away  from 
this  locality?  If  any  plesiosaurus  or  ichthyosaurus 
should  slam  up  against  our  fluorite  windows,  they’d 
smash  the  whole  projector,  then  how  would  we  get 
back  to  Earth?”  I said. 

“By  Golly,  you’re  right,  Marx.  We’d  better  move 
on,”  this  from  the  Skipper.  He  moved  the  intensity 
lever,  pushed  a button,  and  we  rose  from  the  water, 
to  fly  in  a westerly  direction  at  a distance  of  perhaps 
a hundred  yards  from  the  surface  of  the  planet. 

“Hang  it  all,  do  you  think  all  Venus  is  covered  with 
water,  and  has  no  land  at  all?”  Throck  asked  me. 

“I  don’t  believe  so.  The  pterodactyl,  while  amphi- 
bious to  a slight  extent,  cannot  altogether  live  on  water, 
and  so  it  is  quite  likely  that  there  are  places  where  the 
ocean  floor  is  above  the  surface  of  the  sea,”  I replied. 

The  First  Man  on  Venus 

Perhaps  a thousand  miles  had  passed  beneath  us, 
in  about  ten  hours,  when  land  loomed  up  dimly 
through  the  distant  mist.  A moment  later  we  were 
sinking  to  a level  field  on  a low  mesa,  while  below  and 
around  it  flourished  a great  jungle  of  the  Mesozoic  age.  ' 
In  a little  clearing  of  the  tumbled  maze  three  fierce- 
looking  triceratops  were  feeding  on  the  lush  jungle 
grasses  that  grew  about  them,  and  a hundred  yards 
away  a great  ceratosaurus  fed  on  the  carcass  of  a freshly 
killed  trachodon.  Now  a titanic  allosaurus  leaped  upon 
a long-necked,  peaceful  diplodocus,  and  here  a nimble 
thescelosaurus  battled  with  a sluggish-moving  stegosaur. 
On  every  side  Life  and  Death  moved  hand  in  hand; 
the  more  peaceful,  herbivorous  lizards  gave  up  their 
lives  that  the  fierce  meat-eaters  might  live. 

Everywhere  was  shown  the  first  inexorable  law  of 
Nature — Death  must  be  present  that  Life  might  con- 
tinue. Thus  it  has  always  been,  thus  it  must  always  be. 

Now  we  had  come  to  rest  upon  the  soft  loam  that 
covered  the  little  plateau,  and  the  momentous  question 
was — who  would  have  the  inestimable  honor  of  first 
setting  foot  on  savage  Venus?  First  Parri,  Throck, 
and  I had  voted  that  the  Von,  being  the  inventor  of  the 
space-ship,  should  first  step  out  upon  the  planet,  but 
he  said  that  as  each  one  of  us  secretly  desired  the  honor, 
every  one  should  have  an  equal  chance,  so  he  brought 
out  a deck  of  cards.  These  he  shuffled  and  placed  face 
down  on  the  table. 

“Whoever  cuts  the  highest  card,”  he  said. 

Parri  cut  first — and  brought  up  the  Queen  of  Clubs. 
We  agreed  that  he  had  the  case  pretty  well  cinched, 
but  I drew,  nevertheless.  And  I was  glad  I did — for 
I brought  up  the  King  of  Hearts.  Throck  cut  after 
me — and  came  out  with  the  King  of  Diamonds!  We 
would  have  to  cut  over  again.  Now  Von  Kressen  cut 
the  deck,  but  had  only  the  seven  of  spades. 

The  deck  was  shuffled  again,  and  again  I cut. 

Trey  of  Clubs!  Bah!^ 

Throck  laughed.  “Hang  it  all,  boys,  open  the  door 


for  me!”  he  grinned  as  his  hand  moved  to  the  deck. 
He  cut,  held  it  face  down  a moment.  “Hang  it  all,  I 
think  I’ll  take  possession  in  the  name  of  the  King  of 
England,”  he  ruminated.  You  see,  Throck  had  at  the 
time  of  our  planning  the  interspatial  trip  been  studying 
the  methods  of  American  physicians,  so  was  still  a loyal 
British  subject. 

“Turn  up  the  cards — for  God’s  sake,  don’t  keep  us 
waiting,”  exclaimed  Parri. 

With  a confident  smile  Throck  turned  up  the  cards 
in  his  hand  very  slowly,  and  showed — ^the  Deuce  of 
Spades ! 

“Wheeeeeeeeee !”  I shrieked,  and  dashed  to  the  arma- 
ment closet,  where  I unslung  an  automatic  rifle  and 
buckled  my  six-shooter  about  me.  The  others  followed 
my  example,  and  then  I stepped  to  the  door  of  the 
Flying  Dutchman.  Von  Kressen  opened  it,  and  I 
stepped  through  and  my  foot  touched  the  moist  loam 
that  covered  the  little  mesa.  A queer  emotion  strug- 
gled within  me — ^the  first  man  to  step  upon  the  planet 
Venus. 

Behind  me  was  Throck,  then  came  Parri,  and  lastly 
Von  Kressen.  We  were  all  assembled  together  outside 
the  star-traveler,  while  above  us  circled  half  a dozen 
pterodactyls — like  the  ghosts  of  a time  and  a world 
long  since  dead  and  forgotten. 

“Ten  million  years  into  the  past,”  breathed  the 
French  astronomer  as  he  looked  up  at  them,  “Ten  mil- 
lion years!” 

CHAPTER  IV 

A Killing 

The  temperature  of  the  planet  was  about  95  de- 
grees F.,  I imagined,  and  the  high  percentage  of 
humidity  made  one  feel  sticky,  bloated,  uncom- 
fortable. The  air  was  throbbing  with  a hundred  dif- 
ferent sounds — ^the  humming  and  buzzing  of  a million 
insects ; the  harsh,  discordant  cries  and  the  voluminous 
hissings  of  a dozen  nearby  saurians;  the  gurgle  and 
swish  of  a running  brook ; the  low  thunder  of  the  surf 
half  a mile  away;  the  whispers  of  the  lush  ferns  and 
grasses;  the  groaning  of  the  more  solid  trees  as  they 
bent  beneath  the  whispering,  moaning,  soughing  breezes. 
All  this  magnified  by  the  dense  water-vapor  in  the 
thick  Venusian  atmosphere. 

“Well?”  I laughed,  turning  to  the  Skipper,  “What 
now  ?” 

“We  will  explore.  You  and  Raoul  can  go  first — 
just  see  if  there  is  any  way  we  could  be  attacked  up 
here.” 

“Hmph !”  growled  Parri,  as  he  and  I began  a circuit 
of  the  little  plateau,  “Hear  that?  He’s  looking  for  a 
fight  already.  Wants  to  know  if  anybody  can  come 
up  here  and  start  a scrap.” 

Presently  we  came  to  a natural  stairway  that  led  to 
and  from  the  mesa.  It  was  narrow  and  steep,  so  that 
any  party  of  fnen  climbing  or  descending  it  had  to  do 
so  carefully  and  in  single  file.  At  the  base  of  the  cliff, 
which  was  about  a hundred  feet  higher  than  the  level 
of  the  ground  beneath,  several  trees  lifted  their  heads 
to  the  rim  of  our  sanctum,  but  we  did  not  deem  it 
likely  that  anything  would  be  able  to  reach  the  table- 


302 


WONDER  STORIES 


land  from  them. 

Coming  back  to  the  Flying  Dutchman,  we  held  a 
council  at  which  it  was  finally  agreed  that  two  men 
should  take  one  of  the  small  movie  cameras  and  sally 
forth  into  the  primeval  Mesozoic  jungle  to  obtain  pho- 
tographic specimens  of  dinosaurs,  as  proof  of  our 
journey,  to  be  used  as  soon  as  I opened  the  narrative 
to  the  public.  So  Throck  and  I set  forth  together  to 
gather  data  on  the  existing  climatic  conditions,  prob- 
able diseases,  determine  how  long  we  could  stay,  do  a 
little  exploring  of  the  neighborhood,  and  procure  pho- 
tographs of  all  animal  life  we  encountered.  Warily 
the  physician  and  I descended  the  rocky  stairway  lead- 
ing to  our  haven,  and  entered  the  carboniferous  forest 
that  swayed  about  us. 

After  a hundred  yards  of  careful  stepping  through 
low,  marshy  ground  overgrown  with  tangled  fern-trees 
and  similar  verdure,  we  came  to  the  little  brook  whose 
gurgling  we  had  heard  on  the  mesa.  This  stream  seemed 
to  originate  on  a neighboring  hill  a little  to  the  left  of, 
and  not  quite  as  high  as  that  on  which  the  star-shell 
rested. 

We  decided  to  follow  the  stream  to  its  starting  place 
in  the  hope  we  would  find  clear  water  there,  for  at  the 
point  we  came  to  it,  the  brook  was  stagnant,  muddy, 
and  slimy.  Accordingly  we  set  off  toward  the  left,  fol- 
lowing the  creek,  till  we  came  to  a watering-spot  where 
in  the  thick,  soft  mud  we  found  the  footprints  of  nearly 
every  form  of  animal  life  Venus  harbored.  Mingled 
with  the  split  hoofs  of  the  Triceratops,  the  talons  of 
the  flesh-eating  lizards,  the  claws  of  the  cave  tiger,  and 
the  webbed  feet  of  the  amphibious  air-reptiles  we  dis- 
cerned also  the  toe-marks  of  the  small,  prehistoric 
camel,  and — ^at  last — ^the  footprints  of  the  tiny,  five- 
toed horse. 

Leading  away  from  the  drinking  place,  on  each  side 
of  the  brook,  was  a broad  path  where  countless  creatures 
had  come  for  many  years  and.  beaten  down  the  thick 
verdure  in  their  quest  for  water.  Taking  the  one  on 
our  side  of  the  stream,  we  followed  it  some  hundred 
feet,  then  branched  off  again  to  the  right  and  the  hill. 
This  we  reached  after  forcing  our  slow  way  through 
the  tangled  marsh  plants,  and  found,  as  we  expected, 
the  brook  tumbling  from  a narrow  crevice  in  the  soft 
rock.  At  the  base  of  the  little  waterfall  a pool  of 
muddy  water  had  accumulated,  and  there  we  saw  the 
first  truly  Venusian  animal.  It  was  almost  exactly  like 
an  Earthly  crocodile  in  many  aspects,  with  the  excep- 
tion that  on  its  nose  was  a great  curving  horn,  like  that 
of  a rhinoceros,  except  that  it  measured  only  about  a 
foot  in  length.  The  whole  reptile  was  about  twelve 
feet  long,  and  its  color  was  a greyish  green. 

Throck  unslung  the  automatic  camera  and  pressed 
the  button.  The  crocodile  (as  we  called  it  for  the  sake 
of  convenience)  had  been  feeding  on  the  fern-like 
growths  at  the  pool  when  we  came  up,  but  now,  after 
staring  at  us  stupidly  a moment,  it  emitted  a steam- 
engine  hiss  and  slid  into  the  water,  swimming  in  our 
direction.  It  opened  its  mouth  once,  and  I saw  that 
both  jaws  were  movable;  its  front  teeth  were  long  and 
sharp,  while  the  rear  were  broad  and  flat. 

As  the  creature  neared  us  I moved  off  toward  the 
left,  Throck  remaining  where  he  was,  and  then  taking 


down  my  rifle,  aimed  carefully  at  the  slow-moving  rep- 
tile’s right  eye  and  squeezed  the  trigger. 

The  crocodile  gave  a final  lunge  which  carried  it  to 
our  shore,  where  it  lay  still  save  for  a spasmodic  switch- 
ing of  the  strong  tail.  I turned  toward  Throck,  a smile 
of  ektion  on  my  lips,  which  was  at  once  frozen  when 
I saw  my  companion  tottering  on  the  edge  of  the  pool, 
both  hands  clutching  his  left  shoulder,  from  which 
spurted  and  rushed  a thick  stream  of  blood. 

I rushed  to  his  side  and  caught  him  as  he  lunged 
forward.  Then  I lowered  him  gently  to  the  ground 
and  took  a hasty  glance  across  the  stream.  Whatever 
had  struck  him  had  come  from  that  direction.  But 
I saw  nothing,  and  so,  assuring  myself  that  there  was 
no  other  presence  in  the  immediate  vicinity,  I examined 
the  wound  of  the  now  unconscious  man.  It  was  torn, 
ragged,  and  bleeding  profusely,  and  was  about  an  inch 
deep.  Correctly  assuming  that  it  had  been  made  by 
a rough,  angular  missile — a ragged  stone,  no  doubt — 
I looked  about  me  for  a sign  of  the  weapon,  and 
shortly  espied  it  in  the  grasses  to  my  right.  It  was,  as 
I thought,  a rough  stone  which  could  only  have  come 
from  a sling,  since  not  only  was  there  no  stick  attached 
to  it,  but  such  an  ungainly  object  when  fastened  to  a 
wooden  shaft  would  invariably  swing  the  missile  wide 
of  its  mark. 

Following  the  Trail 

WHEN  I had  hastily  bandaged  Throck’s  wound 
with  our  handkerchiefs,  I laid  him  across  my 
shoulders  and  made  my  way  carefully  to  the  dinosaur 
trail,  which  I followed  to  the  creek,  and  finally  back 
along  our  first  path  to  the  mesa  harboring  the  Flying 
Dutchman  and  our  two  other  companions. 

We  placed  Throck  in  the  ship,  and  Von  Kressen  set 
up  a sort  of  filtering  apparatus  which  drew  as  much 
humidity  as  possible  out  of  the  air,  for  we  desired 
above  all  else  to  minimize  the  chances  of  Throck’s  de- 
veloping a dangerous  fever.  Screens  had  already  been 
put  up  to  keep  out  the  thousands  of  insects,  and  we  kept 
the  air  within  the  shell  as  cool  as  we  could.  Next  we 
attended  to  the  physician  with  his  medical  kit,  braced 
him  with  a shot  of  quinine,  and  let  his  powerful  consti- 
tution do  the  rest. 

Then  the  Von,  Parri,  and  I examined  the  rock,  which 
I had  brought  along,  finally  agreeing  that  the  perpe- 
trator had  been  of  a race  similar  to  that  which  had 
flourished  on  Earth  during  the  third  interglacial  period. 

By  the  time  we  had  decided  this  we  all  felt  hungry, 
and  so  ate  our  evening  meal — evening  on  Venus  as  well 
as  on  Earth,  for  the  humid  atmosphere  of  the  planet 
was  rapidly  assuming  a coppery  twilight  that  always  pre- 
cedes the  Venusian  night.  The  sky  during  the  night- 
time is  either  a sullen  copper  with  a slow,  warm  rain, 
or  it  is  excessively  black  save  when  lighted  momentarily 
by  vivid  lightning  flashes.  But  always  there  is  rain. 

The  thunder  crashes,  as  I later  learned,  were  simply 
frightful,  but  within  the  car  we  slept  very  well,  since 
no  sound  could  carry  through  the  vacuum  space  between 
the  inner  and  the  outer  shells  of  the  flyer,  and  very  little 
seeped  in  at  the  points  where  there  were  any  connections 
between  the  walls. 

The  dawn  of  our  second  day  on  Venus  came,  by  our 


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303 


watches,  about  1 :00  A.  M.  The  Skipper  cooked  our 
breakfast,  and  Parri  took  a tray  of  food  to  the  physi- 
cian, who  was  awake  and  doing  fairly  well.  When  we 
related  to  him  what  had  happened  and  what  measures 
we  had  taken  in  his  case,  he  said  he  felt  sure  he  could 
direct  his  treatment  himself  now,  which  he  did. 

For  three  days  we  seldom  left  the  plateau,  staying 
inside  the  space-ship  most  of  the  time.  Then  one  day 
Parri  made  a trip  to  the  neighboring  hill  for  clear 
water — and  did  not  come  hack. 

Since  Throck  was  now  able  to  walk  about  and  help 
himself,  it  was  made  out  that  he  should  remain  in  the 
star-ship  while  the  Skipper  and  I set  out  to  search  for 
our  missing  friend.  Accordingly,  each  of  us  armed 
himself  with  an  automatic  rifle,  a revolver,  hunting  knife, 
plenty  of  ammunition,  while  the  Von  also  took  a com- 
pass and  a camera.  Then  we  climbed  down  the  cliff 
and  made  our  way  to  the  waterfall,  where  we  expected 
to  find  signs  of  Parri’s  recent  presence.  And  we  did. 
In  the  soft  loam  where  Throck  had  been  wounded  four 
days  before,  we  found  marks  of  a violent  struggle,  sev- 
eral hairs  which  may  or  may  not  have  come  from  Raoul’s 
head,  and  a large  strip  of  cloth  torn  from  his  shirt. 
The  ground  was  stamped  by  many  naked  feet,  examina- 
tion of  these  footprints  showing  that  the  men  who 
made  them  were  of  arboreal  habits  to  some  extent, 
as  shown  by  the  long  toes  and  the  slender  great  toe 
extending  at  an  appreciable  angle  from  the  rest  of  the 
foot.  I could  not  just  place  the  race  to  which  these 
men  belonged,  since  I had  never  seen  just  the  same 
footprints  on  Earth,  but  I judged  that  they  belonged 
to  some  form  of  the  so-called  Piltdown  man. 

Von  Kressen  and  I tracked  the  party,  which  num- 
bered seven  or  eight  barefooted  attackers,  two  of  whom 
were  carrying  the  body  of  Parri.  Froifi  the  regularity 
of  the  paces  we  deduced  that  the  prisoner  had  been 
lying  quiet,  which  led  us  to  believe  he  had  been  either 
unconscious  or  dead. 

No  incident  of  importance  occurred  during  the  day, 
and  nothing  stopped  us  from  following  the  party,  which 
made  no  attempt  to  cover  its  trail.  We  made  two  short 
stops  for  hasty  lunches,  then  pushed  on  after  the  cap- 
tors  of  our  friend.  But  they  traveled  fast,  and  although 
we  found  signs  of  two  short  rests  on  their  part,  the 
Venusian  night  overtook  us  ere  we  caught  a glimpse 
of  them. 

It  seemed  that  the  elements  had  been  waiting  for 
nightfall,  for  barely  had  the  murky  twilight  deepened 
into  night  than  there  burst  on  the  carboniferous  land- 
scape the  most  terrific  storm  I had  ever  seen.  The 
water  gushed  down — ^not  in  sheets — ^but  in  solid  col- 
umns that  drenched  one  through  and  through  at  the 
initial  onslaught.  Fuming  and  cursing  at  the  delay 
and  the  certainty  that  we  would  be  unable  to  trail  our 
party  the  next  day,  the  Skipper  and  I crawled  into  a 
little  hollow  of  rocks  and  divested  ourselves  of  our 
heavy,  soggy  clothing.  In  a little  sheltered  spot  in  the 
cave  we  found  some  dry  wood  and  this  the  Von  placed 
in  a little  pile.  The  wood  wasn’t  really  dry — ^the  humid- 
ity of  the  planet  keeps  everything  moist  even  in  “fine” 
weather — ^but  at  least  it  wasn’t  rain-soaked.  Next  my 
companion  fumbled  with  his  dripping  clothes  and  pres- 
ently pulled  out  a box  of  safety  maches.  The  whole 


affair  was  as  flexible  as  a sheet  of  paper  from  the  Soak- 
ing it  had  received,  but  still.  Von  Kressen  took  out  one 
of  those  matches  and  tried  to  light  it. 

“Movie  of  a man  making  a fire,”  I muttered  solemnly, 
watching  little  spurts  of  water  gush  from  the  box  under 
the  pressure  of  the  Von’s  fingers  while  he  slithered  the 
flexible  match  across  the  side  of  the  pulpy  box. 

As  the  futility  of  his  efforts  became  painfully  ap- 
parent, he  groaned  and  fired  the  box  out  into  the  tor- 
rent, while  his  lurid  ravings  were  adequately  expressive 
of  his  disappointment.  With  a generous  interspersing 
of  colorful  expletive,  my  companion  informed  me  that 
the  match  wouldn’t  light. 

“Gee,  Solomon,  but  you’re  smart!  If  you  hadn’t 
told  me,  I’d  never  have  known  that  wet  matches  don’t 
light,”  was  my  grumbling  rejoinder. 

However,  the  rain  was  not  cold,  so  we  curled  up 
on  a few  layers  of  rotting  leaves,  and  with  a playful 
contingent  of  bugs  and  worms  for  bed-partners,  fell 
into  fitful  dozes.  Rapidly,  though,  the  luke-warm  rain 
changed  in  temperature  till  it  became  uncomfortably 
chill,  and  we  woke  shuddering  as  with  ague.  Looking 
out  we  saw  that  the  storm  had  lessened  a trifle,  but  the 
cold  water  falling  on  the  warm  earth  caused  a steam 
that  prevented  one  from  seeing  more  than  ten  yards 
in  front  of  one’s  nose. 

A Dangerous  Encounter 

The  Skipper  and  I crawled  together  for  mutual 
warmth,  though  there  wasn’t  much  for  us  to  impart 
to  each  other,  and  wrapping  our  damp  clothing  about 
our  shoulders,  waited  sleeplessly  through  the  inter- 
minable hours  till  at  last  the  rain  stopped  and  gave  way 
to  a sullen,  lowering  dawn.  Donning  our  rumpled 
clothes  and  eating  a little  of  our  small  food  supply,  we 
faced  the  direction  we  had  been  traveling  the  day  be- 
fore, and  plunged  on  into  the  forest,  following  the 
easiest  routes  and  surmising  that  the  Piltdown  men  had 
done  the  same. 

But  we  were  soon  aware  that  we  had  been  following 
false  leads,  for  after  half  an  hour’s  march  we  came 
baffled  and  weary  to  the  bottom  of  a steep  rocky  es- 
carpment, unable  to  go  further. 

Here  we  sank  to  the  ground,  and  leaning  our  backs 
against  the  stone  wall,  dozed  off — z proceeding  that  one 
of  my  experience  should  have  known  enough  to  avoid — 
fatigued  as  we  were  by  the  discomforts  of  the  pre- 
ceding night. 

Suddenly  my  subconscious  mind  gave  a warning  of 
danger,  and  I roused  myself  to  see,  barely  twelve  feet 
away,  a great  sabre-tooth  tiger,  analogous  to  the  former 
Terrestrial  species  Pogonodon  platycopis.  It  was  an 
enormous  fellow  too,  measuring  fully  fifteen  feet  from 
the  outermost  point  of  its  great  head  to  the  tip  of;  the 
long  tail.  The  coat  was  of  tan,  legs  and  tail  dappled 
with  round  spots  of  a slightly  deeper  shade,  while  the 
top  of  the  head  and  the  sides  of  the  long,  lithe  body 
were  crossed  by  tan  stripes  of  the  same  shade  as  the 
circular  spots. 

He  was  eyeing  us  in  a peculiar  manner — ^half  curi- 
osity, half  hunger.  I reached  for  my  rifle,  and  that 
decided  him  (as  again  I should  have  known),  for  he 


304 


WONDER 


STORIES 


crouched,  moaned,  and  leaped — a monstrous  gorgon  of 
taloned  destruction — just  as  I pressed  the  trigger.  With 
my  foot  I kicked  the  half-sleeping  Skipper  out  of  the 
tiger’s  way,  and  received  that  mighty  body  full  upon 
myself. 

“Exit  Marx,”  I recall  thinking,  when  that  mighty 
mass  of  destruction  hurtled  upon  me.  If  the  size  of 
the  tiger  was  great  when  I saw  it  at  my  awakening,  it 
seemed  augmented  a dozen  times  by  the  crushing  weight 
of  the  beast  as  it  flattened  me  out  like  a pancake  upon 
the  rubble  at  the  base  of  the  cliff.  The  tiger  rose  from 
my  prostrate  body  and  lurched  dizzily  about  a moment 
or  two,  then  rolled  lifeless  at  my  side.  Pure  luck  had 
guided  my  bullet  through  the  beast’s  right  eye,  and  it 
was  a carcass  that  had  hurled  itself  toward  the  Von 
and  me. 

My  companion,  who  had  been  awakened  by  the  com- 
bined effects  of  the  great  cat’s  moan,  the  shot,  and  my 
vigorous  kick,  now  stooped  solicitously  over  me — ^keep- 
ing a wary  eye  on  the  still  quivering  carnivore — and 
assisted  me  to  my  feet. 

“Hurt,  Ken  ?”  he  asked,  his  face  a trifle  anxious. 

I shook  my  head  while  I gasped  in  great  lungfuls  of 
air,  the  tiger  having  relieved  me  of  my  reserve  supply, 
and  finally,  coughing,  choking,  and  with  watering  eyes, 
managed  to  gulp  out  “No.” 

After  I had  my  breath  fully  recovered,  I lay  down 
a bit,  relaxing  as  well  as  I might  in  order  to  terminate 
the  violent  trembling  that  had  seized  me  as  a result 
of  the  nervous  tension  induced  by  the  too  sudden  action. 
When  this  desire  had  at  length  been  accomplished  to 
a satisfactory  degree,  I arose  and  we  stood  staring  into 
the  forest,  figuring  the  best  thing  to  do  would  be  to 
move  on,  whither  we  knew  not.  We  shouldered  our 
rifles  and  I was  about  to  step  into  the  lead  when  I be- 
thought me  of  the  slain  tiger  and  what  a fine  blanket 
its  coat  would  make.  Turning,  I explained  to  the  Von 
that  we  had  better  skin  the  dead  beast  and  save  the 
hide  for  nights  like  the  one  before.  Accordingly,  we 
knelt  down  and  commenced  skinning  the  great  cat  on 
the  ground,  though  I would  have  preferred  hanging  it 
from  a tree.  But  there  was  no  tree  near  that  looked 
as  though  it  could  stand  the  weight  of  the  beast,  which 
I reckoned  would  tip  the  scales  at  some  six  hundred 
pounds  at  the  least. 

The  Skipper  wrinkled  his  nose  during  the  process, 
and  the  acrid  odof,  I must  say,  was  unusually  strong, 
accentuated  as  it  was  by  the  high  percentage  of  humid- 
ity in  the  air.  But  at  last  the  pelt  was  removed,  and 
we  begave  ourselves  to  the  arduous  task  of  tanning  it. 
To  this  end  we  cut  down  four  calamites,  trimmed  the 
trunks  of  smaller  branches,  and  by  notching  and  tying 
them  together,  made  a frame  about  twelve  by  nine  feet. 
On  this  we  stretched  the  pelt,  fur  side  down,  and  then 
with  our  hunting  knives  began  scraping  off  the  fat  and 
meat  from  the  flesh  side.  By  nightfall  we  had  this 
fairly  well  done,  and  then  we  looked  about  for  a shelter. 

Von  Kressen  found  one  some  distance  to  our  right — 
a cave  worn  into  the  cliff  by  the  action  of  the  winds 
and  the  rains.  We  lugged  the  hide  over  to  it,  ate  a 
little  food,  and  then  covered  the  skin  with  several  lay- 
ers of  broad  leaves  in  order  to  keep  off  the  hosts  of 


hungry  insects  that  would  avail  themselves  of  the  hide’s 
hospitality  during  the  night. 

We  slept  comparatively  well  that  night,  our  only 
annoyers  being  the  swarms  of  mosquitos,  ants,  and  flies. 
The  next  morning  dawned  with  the  promise  of  a “nice” 
day,  and  we  were  at  first  minded  to  continue  after 
Parri  and  his  abductors,  but  on  second  thought  decided 
to  finish  the  skin. 

The  Attack  I 

Beginning  where  we  had  left  off  the  preceding 
day,  we  removed  the  tiger’s  brain  and  worked  it 
into  the  hide,  adding  the  whites  of  several  bird’s  eggs 
the  Von  had  found.  When  the  skin  had  been  made 
sufficiently  pliable,  we  picked  up  several  large  rocks 
and  with  them  pounded  and  ground  down  a few  blocks 
of  sandstone,  making  as  fine  a powder  as  we  could  get. 
Next  we  managed  to  take  the  lead  out  of  a half  dozen 
cartridges  (all  we  dared  spare),  and  removing  the  pow- 
der from  the  shells,  mixed  it  with  the  pulverized  sand- 
stone. This  we  sprinkled  over  the  pelt,  worked  in  a 
little,  and  waited  for  Nature  to  do  the  rest. 

By  noon  we  were  finished,  and  I took  my  rifle  and 
sallied  forth  into  the  wilderness  with  the  intention  of 
bagging  some  small  animal  for  food,  as  we  wished  to 
preserve  the  small  supply  we  had  brought  along.  For 
fifteen  minutes  I slunk  through  the  carboniferous  jungle 
with  its  mighty,  fern-like  plants  waving  their  monstrous 
fronds  fifty,  a hundred,  and  two  hundred  feet  into  the 
grey,  rain-filled  Venusian  sky.  Thus  far  I had  not 
even  glimpsed  any  small  form  of  animal  life,  but  on  one 
occasion  I dimly  saw  a great  triceratops  crash  his  way 
through  the  forest.  Suddenly  I heard  a shout  from  the 
direction  of  camp,  followed  by  two  shots  and  a chorus 
of  yells — the  kind  that  a savage  emits  when  he  is  sur- 
prised by  some  terrible,  awe-inspiring  monstrosity. 
Then  came  the  Skipper’s  familiar  bellow,  “Oh  Marx !” 
I turned  and  ran  toward  camp,  just  skimming  the 
larger,  more  substantial  fern-trees,  and  crashing  my 
way  through  the  smaller  growths.  A score  of  times 
I tripped  and  fell,  once  nearly  into  the  maw  of  the 
ugliest  creation  I had  ever  witnessed — a great,  round, 
squat,  slimy-looking  thing  with  a disgusting  shovel- 
shaped  mouth  that  drooled  fetid,  slimy  saliva.  The 
creature  was  almost  black  in  color,  being  a very  dark 
brown,  covered  with  warts,  and  in  locomotion  appar- 
ently oozed  itself  toward  me. 

Picking  myself  up  again  I ran  on,  bursting  into  the 
open  just  as  the  second  attack  began.  For  some  min- 
utes I had  heard  the  savage  cries  of  the  Von’s  unknown 
opponents,  and  knew  they  were  trying  to  bolster  up 
their  courage  to  the  point  where  it  would  be  strong 
enough  to  send  them  on  a quick,  though  brief,  fanatical 
dash  toward  my  companion. 

As  I emerged  upon  the  little  clearing  before  our  cave, 
I came  to  a sudden  halt,  fear  and  rage  striving  for 
mastery  of  my  emotions.  Dashing  toward  Von  Kressen 
were  a score  of  naked,  white-skinned  savages,  while 
beyond  them  I saw  the  German  lurch  back  against  the 
wall  of  the  cliff,  firing  his  automatic  pistol  as  fast  as 
his  finger  could  work  the  trigger,  while  from  body  and 
legs  protruded  four  great  spears,  and  from  fifty  other 
places  he  was  streaming  blood.  He  couldn’t  hold  out. 


THE  WAR  LORD  OF  VENUS 


305 


of  course,  and  he  sank  to  the  shale,  firing  weakly  to 
the  last. 

With  a bellow  of  wrath  I jerked  up  my  automatic 
rifle  and  began  firing  at  the  backs  of  the  savages,  my 
sight  blurred  by  the  tears  of  rage  that  welled  up  in  my 
eyes.  For  a while  they  were  getting  the  worst  of  it, 
my  bullets  mowing  them  down  even  though  I did  not 
aim  carefully,  until  with  a resounding  klunh  something 
hard  and  heavy  landed  on  the  back  of  my  head. 

A brief  moment  things  began  to  swim  before  my 
drooping  eyelids,  then  everything  faded  into  nothingness. 

CHAPTER  V 

The  Cave  Princess 

WE  were  surrounded  by  a curious  mob  when  I 
opened  my  eyes.  The  Skipper  was  still  uncon- 
scious, his  pain-racked  body  twisted  into  an 
awkward  position,  while  over  him  bent  a half-naked 
savage  who  was  binding  up  my  companion’s  wound  with 
broad,  thick  leaves.  On  the  back  of  my  own  head  was 
smeared  a salve  which  I later  learned  was  composed  of 
a crude  sort  of  lard,  resin,  and  the  bark,  of  a tree  that 
somewhat  resembled  the  sweet  elder. 

When  the  man  had  finished  with  my  companion,  he 
motioned  three  nearby  warriors  to  carry  the  limp  fig- 
ure into  a large  cave  close  by — one  of  several  dozens 
that  perforated  a low  cliff  behind  me. 

One  of  the  men  now  noticed  I had  my  eyes  open, 
and  approached  me.  He  jerked  his  head,  indicating  me 
to  rise,  and  spoke  something  in  a low  voice.  I com- 
plied with  his  request,  and,  surrounded  by  a score  of 
jibbering  savages,  was  marched  off  to  the  greatest  cave- 
entrance  in  the  face  of  the  cliff.  I looked  at  the  men 
whose  prisoners  the  Von  and  I were.  They  closely 
resembled  the  sculptured  busts  I had  seen  on  Earth,  of 
the  race  designated  as  the  Cro-Magnon.  They  were 
very  tall,  all  the  men  standing  at  least  six  feet,  some 
even  going  up  to  about  six-feet-eight,  and  the  average 
six-feet-four.  Their  heads  showed  the  same  great 
cranial  capacity  as  the  skulls  found  on  Terra,  and  were 
covered  for  the  most  part  with  thick  shocks  of  black 
hair,  though  there  were  some  red  and  some  brown- 
haired individuals  among  them.  The  shades  of  these 
latter  colors,  however,  were  dark,  the  red  hair  being 
really  auburij.  Their  faces  were  rather  finely  chiseled, 
and  would  pass  as  handsome  anywhere  on  Earth.  The 
cheek-bones  were  high,  the  chins  well-developed  and 
square.  The  mouths  were  not  too  large,  and  the  lips 
straight  and  full,  though  not  pendulous  or  brutal.  The 
noses  were  straight  and  aquiline,  while  under  the  high, 
handsome  foreheads  shone  intelligent  eyes  of  brown. 
There  were  also  blue  and  grey  eyes  among  them,  espe- 
cially among  the  women,  who  were  themselves  fairly 
tall,  and  with  figures  made  perfect  by  the  unfettered 
freedom  in  which  they  lived. 

Garmenture  and  ornamentation  varied  according  to 
the  individual’s  taste,  with  the  exception  that  only 
leaders  of  the  tribe  were  permitted  the  use  of  grey- 
black  feathers  fastened  around  their  heads  by  snake- 
skins.  Some  of  the  men  wore  loin  cloths  of  small 
rodents’  skins;  others  wore  capes  or  cloaks  of  lion. 


tiger,  or  the  enormous  Venusian  cave-bear.  Everyone 
had  one  or  more  strings  of  dyed  animals’  teeth  about 
his  or  her  neck,  and  others  had  also  anklets  of  bone, 
trimmed  with  vari-colored  birds’  down. 

The  weapons  of  the  men  included  long  knives  of 
bone  or  flint,  fastened  in  a leathern  sheath  at  the  right 
thigh,  a club  or  knob-stick  hung  from  a thong  at  the 
right  hip,  while  down  the  left  side  hung  a quiver  of 
arrows,  and  a little  in  front  of  that  a stone  axe.  Across 
the  men’s  backs  were  slung  strong  bows,  made  of  the 
rare  hardwood  that  grows  high  up  on  the  flanks  of  the 
great  Venusian  mountains.  The  long  strong  spears 
the  men  carried  were  also  cut  from  this  wood,  which  is 
very  much  like  hickory. 

Entering  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  we  passed  through 
a winding  corridor  illuminated  at  places  by  chunks  of 
luminous  fungus  stuck  into  numerous  little  niches  in 
the  rock  wall,  and  came  presently  to  a great  chamber 
lighted  as  the  passageway.  The  room  was  roughly  oval, 
about  two  hundred  feet  long,  a hundred  wide  at  its 
greatest  transverse  diameter,  and  twenty  feet  high.  The 
gallery  through  which  we  had  come  entered  the  room 
on  one  side,  and  directly  opposite  the  entrance  was  a 
wooden  framework  supporting  a wooden  bench,  over 
which  was  spread  a great  bearskin. 

And  upon  the  bench  sat,  half -reclining,  a young 
woman — and  a very  attractive  young  woman  at  that. 
She  was  garbed  in  the  skin  of  a cave-tiger,  wore  all 
the  smaller  amulets  of  the  lesser  members  of  her  tribe, 
and  also  wore  a primitive  crown  of  gay  feathers,  bound 
about  her,  head  with  a broad,  glistening  black  serpent- 
skin.  A single  great  Aepyornis  plume,  a yard  long, 
rose  from  the  center  of  her  becoming  head-dress. 

Her  hair  was  auburn,  though  in  the  somewhat  bluish 
light  that  pervaded  the  chamber  it  seemed  black.  Her 
eyes  I could  not  see  at  the  distance  I stood  from  her. 
Her  face  was  beautiful  though — and  I know  a beautiful 
woman  when  I see  one. 

Like  most  of  her  race,  she  was  tall  compared  to  most 
present-day  Terrestrial  women,  measuring  about  five 
feet  eight  inches.  Her  body  was  slender  and  supple, 
and  beneath  the  clear  white  skin  rolled  muscles  like 
those  of  a young  lioness.  In  the  shapely  right  hand 
dangled  a white  wand  that  was  her  sceptre,  and  at  her 
right  hip  was  suspended  a stone  knife.  Every  inch  she 
looked  a real  queen,  or  rather,  goddess,  of  the  primitive 
people  she  ruled. 

After  giving  me  a thorough  inspection  she  sat  up 
and  ordered  me  brought  forward.  When  sufficiently 
close,  she  fingered  the  strange  clothing  that  encased 
my  body  and  marveled  at  the  shiny  cylinders  whose 
rims  projected  from  the  top  of  my  cartridge  belt. 

Presently  she  spoke  to  me  in  a clear,  musical  voice ; 
but  I,  of  course,  could  understand  nothing.  In  polite- 
ness to  her,  however,  I replied  in  every  language  and 
dialect  with  which  I was  familiar,  though  I knew  my 
efforts  were  foredoomed  to  failure.  She,  in  return, 
listened  quietly  to  me,  and  when  I had  finished,  turned 
and  spoke  a few  words  to  an  elderly  courtier  who  stood 
like  a graven  image  at  the  side  of  her  primitive  throne. 
When  she  had  spoken  he  gave  a low  bow  of  acquies- 
cence and  made  a brief  reply. 


306 


WONDER  STORIES 


An  Accident 

NOW  a young  warrior  entered  the  chamber,  and 
approaching  the  fair  ruler,  presented  her  two 
objects  that  glittered  dully  in  the  subdued,  bluish  light. 
She  picked  up  one,  which  I saw  was  my  six-shooter, 
and  commenced  fingering  it.  With  a cry  of  warning 
I started  toward  her,  only  to  be  roughly  jerked  back 
by  the  three  guardsmen  who  had  charge  of  me.  The 
Princess  looked  up  in  annoyance  at  my  ejaculation,  and 
at  a sign  from  her  one  of  my  keepers  clapped  a palm 
over  my  mouth  to  dam  the  stream  of  protests  that 
issued  therefrom. 

When  she  was  through  with  the  six-shooter  she 
passed  it  to  the  elderly  courtier  with  a short  comment, 
and  turned  to  the  Von’s  automatic,  while  the  man  pro- 
ceeded to  examine  my  revolver;  fingering  the  grip, 
“listening”  to  it,  smelling  it,  and  peering  down  the  bar- 
rel, the  girl  doing  likewise. 

And  then  they  did  it.  The  two  reports  rang  out 
almost  as  one;  the  girl  dropped  the  gun  as  though  it 
were  red-hot,  jerked  her  hands  to  her  head  with  a little 
cry,  twisted  once,  and  sank  back  unconscious  upon  the 
wooden  throne.  As  for  the  man — he  still  stared  wide- 
eyed  and  wondering  at  the  revolver,  which  was  slowly 
turning  in  his  hand  as  the  grip  of  his  fingers  relaxed, 
then  it  fell  to  the  floor  while  his  knees  sagged  and  his 
lifeless  body  lunged  face  down  upon  the  stone  floor. 

This  unexpected  display  of  fireworks  caused  the 
hasty  and  undignified  exit  of  a score  of  guardsmen  who 
had  been  lolling  against  the  walls  to  do  the  Princess’ 
pleasure,  and  two  of  my  own  guards  bolted  with  the 
rest,  while  the  one  remaining  was  very  much  minded 
to  follow  his  fellows,  but  loyalty  to  his  fair  ruler  would 
not  permit. 

Freed  from  the  grip  of  the  savages,  I leaped  to  the 
quiet  figure  lying  on  the  crude  throne  and  stretched  it 
in  a more  comfortable  position.  The  bullet  had  grazed 
her  temple,  but — ^thank  God — she  lived.  I turned  to 
the  flustered  guard  and  cried  for  him  to  bring  water, 
gesticulating  toward  the  prone  body  on  the  couch.  But 
he  couldn’t  understand,  so  I dashed  toward  the  exit  of 
the  cave,  into  the  passage,  and  knocked  myself  dizzy 
against  the  wall  at  a turn  which  was  not  illuminated 
by  the  usual  phosphorescent  fungus  torch.  Picking 
myself  up,  I began  to  grope  my  way  toward  the  day- 
light when  the  warrior  in  the  room  decided  to  evacuate 
also,  and  coming  up  behind  me,  bowled  me  over  again, 
nearly  braining  me  against  the  floor.  Again  I scrambled 
up  and  pursued  my  way  to  the  open  air,  this  time  the 
warrior  in  front  of  me.  Just  as  I emerged  from  the 
passage  into  the  open,  I found  the  body-guard  of  the 
Princess  congregating  for  a return  to  the  cave.  I ran 
toward  them  and  cried  “Water,  bring  some  water!” 
but  of  course,  it  didn’t  take.  However,  I snatched  a 
clay  pot  from  the  ground  and  ran  to  a spring  I could 
see  bubbling  from  the  cliff  a small  distance  away.  There 
I filled  my  vase  and  returned  to  the  cavern  with  the 
savage  white  warriors. 

Reaching  the  chamber,  I first  appropriated  the  two 
short-arms  lying  on  the  floor  before  the  throne,  tucking 
them  inside  my  shirt.  Then  I took  a handkerchief, 
and  wetting  it,  dabbed  it  at  the  wound.  Fortunately 


for  the  fair  sufferer,  it  was  only  a flesh  wound,  the 
shell  having  merely  grazed  off  a little  patch  of  skin 
above  the  temple.  Presently  the  village  Witch  Doctor 
and  physician,  the  man  who  had  patched  the  wounds 
of  Von  Kressen,  came  in  and  applied  some  of  his  salve 
to  the  girl’s  hurt. 

It  was  while  he  and  I were  tenderly  working  over  her 
that  the  Princess  opened  her  eyes.  With  a little  gri- 
mace she  touched  the  sore  spot  and  brought  away  her 
fingers  daubed  with  blood  and  salve.  A minute  passed 
before  she  comprehended  the  situation,  and  then  she 
looked  quickly  up  at  the  Witch  Doctor  and  rne.  I gave 
her  a cheerful  smile  of  encouragement,  and  was  re- 
warded by  seeing  her  lips  curve  in  a brave,  quiet  little 
smile  in  response.  In  secret  I complimented  myself 
on  having  a way  with  women,  and  also  reflected  what 
a lovable  captor  this  little  savage  was,  and  what  a “lucky 
dog”  I was  to  be  her  prisoner. 

But  when  it  comes  to  women,  I’m  good — really  I am. 

If  I cared  to,  I could  write  a whole  blooming  book 
about  my  various  love  affairs — ^most  of  them  one-sided, 
by  the  way — ranging  all  the  way  up  from  the  worship- 
ful devotion  of  Mawaza,  the  shy  black  cannibal  maid 
of  Central  Africa,  with  copper  earrings  and  a woodeS 
platter  eight  inches  in  diameter  in  her  lower  lip ; to  the 
frivolous  and  somewhat  shallow  affections  of  a popular 
French  actress  and  dancer  in  Paris,  who  gambled  away 
her  earnings  on  the  green,  or  checkered,  tables  of  Monte 
Carlo  and  attempted  suicide  every  six  months  to  bring 
her  before  the  public  eye  again,  lest  her  popularity  go 

on  the  wane.  In  point  of  looks,  I think  Mile had 

a slight  advantage  over  Mawaza,  but  in  point  of  faith- 
fulness I believe  I would  have  preferred  the  ebon  maid 
from  the  backwaters  of  the  Congo. 

Several  minutes  of  silence  followed  the  Princess’ 
revival,  then  she  spoke  to  a few  warriors,  one  of  whom 
touched  my  sleeve  and  beckoned  me  to  accompany  him 
and  his  companions.  His  attitude  was  rather  defer- 
ential, and  he  was  very  decent  to  me  as  they  led  me  to 
another  cave  where  they  left  me,  the  leader  making 
apologetic  gestures  to  me  as  he  left  one  of  the  men  to 
guard  the  entrance  of  my  cavern. 

With  a smile  of  satisfaction  I turned  to  the  mat  of 
leaves  in  a corner  and  lay  down  to  await  the  fall  of 
night.  I was  satisfied  because  I saw  by  the  attitude  of 
my  guards  that  their  ruler  had  taken  a fancy  to  me 
and  instructed  them  to  treat  me  well ; this  supposition 
being  shortly  verified  by  the  appearance  of  a young 
woman  bearing  a pot  of  food  and  a clay  cup  of  water. 
When  I had  finished  my  repast  the  copper-tinged  night 
had  enveloped  the  jungle  and  a slow  warm  rain  com- 
menced. My  guard  drew  into  the  passage  of  my  apart- 
ment and  squatted  against  a wall,  a bear-robe  wrapped 
about  him.  I tucked  the  two  guns  under  my  grass 
pillow,  and  drawing  a stag-hide  over  me,  soon  fell 
asleep. 

The  next  morning  was  the  finest  I had  ever  seen  on 
Venus.  The  usual  dark  clouds  floating  two  thousand 
feet  above  the  land  were  gone,  and  in  their  place  floated 
lighter  clouds  some  four  thousand  feet  above  the 
ground.  The  day  was  much  lighter  than  any  I had  seen 
thus  far,  and  on  several  occasions  there  were  dim 
shafts  of  radiance  seeping  through  the  clouds  above. 


THE  WAR  LORD  OF  VENUS 


307 


That  the  weather  was  becoming  nicer  I attributed  to 
the  fact  that  our  position  on  the  planet’s  surface  was 
coming  closest  to  the  sun. 

An  Imperial  Call 

Twenty  or  thirty  minutes  after  my  awakening, 
two  warriors  approached  the  guard  of  my  cave, 
and  the  three  had  a short  palaver,  after  which  they 
came  in  to  me  and  by  polite  gestures  indicated  that 
they  wished  me  to  accompany  them.  I rose  from  my 
seat  on  the  grass  bed  and  was  conducted  to  the  throne 
cavern  of  the  day  before,  and  once  more  presented  to 
the  Princess. 

Followed  thirty  minutes  of  meaningless  jabber  on 
the  parts  of  all  concerned,  the  Princess  carrying  on 
quite  a conversation  with  me  by  means  of  two  inter- 
preters, who  acted  like  the  real  goods,  but  imparted 
information  to  no  one ; while  I extolled  the  good  points 
of  the  fair  ruler,  made  remarks  about  the  wonderful 
weather,  and  told  jokes  in  any  tongue  I knew,  just  as 
the  whim  seized  me.  When  the  half-hour  had  passed, 
the  entertaining  little  party  broke  up  and  I was  returned 
to  my  apartment,  the  two  “interpreters”  going  with 
me.  Their  object  was  soon  apparent,  for  as  soon  as 
we  had  been  seated  in  the  lighted  entrance  of  the  cavern, 
one  of  them  pointed  to  each  of  us  and  repeated  the 
worn  non.  I correctly  surmised  he  meant  the  equiva- 
lent of  the  English  man.  Then  taking  several  fruits 
which  someone  had  brought  during  my  absence,  he 
named  each  one,  ending  with  the  banana  as  gavo.  Most 
nouns  were  of  one  or  two  syllables,  as  was  to  be  ex- 
pected of  a comparatively  uncivilized  race.  It  is  true 
that  the  American  Indians,  and  many  of  the  black  tribes 
of  Africa  have  multi-syllabled  words,  but  most  savage 
tribes  of  my  acquaintance  had  monosyllabic  languages. 
My  past  experience  in  learning  unfamiliar  languages 
and  dialects  stood  me  in  good  stead  now,  and  by  the 
time  for  the  midday  meal  I had  made  very  satisfactory 
progress  in  nouns,  pronouns,  and  a few  verbs  and 
adjectives.  Conjunctions,  prepositions,  and  adverbs 
were  to  come  later. 

After  the  meal,  at  which  my  instructors  were  my 
guests,  they  conducted  me  about  the  cave-village,  show- 
ing me  the  various  homes  of  the  people,  and  introducing 
me  to  the  several  befeathered  chieftains  we  met.  On 
every  hand  the  highest  courtesy  and  consideration  was 
extended  to  me,  and  a thousand  times  over  I thanked 
Fate  for  my  “way”  with  women.  I was  confident  that 
all  this  sudden  friendliness  on  the  part  of  my  captors 
was  the  outcropping  of  my  more  or  less  purely  flirta- 
tious smile  to  the  primitive  Princess  the  day  before. 
Presently  my  guides  took  me  to  the  edge  of  the  plateau 
on  which  the  cave-village  was  situated,  and  there  I saw 
a sheer  drop  of  some  two  hundred  feet  to  a steep  slope 
falling  for  fully  a mile  to  the  green  marsh-jungle  below. 

I was  surprised  to  find  high  ground  on  Venus,  for  from 
the  conditions  on  the  lowlands,  I had  assumed  that  no 
high  hills  of  hard  rock  existed  on  the  planet.  How- 
ever, as  Venus  is  still  in  a very  plastic  age,  I surmised 
that  tremendous  earthquakes  had  lifted  the  hardening 
crust  of  the  planet  up  this  far.  And  there  really  was 
no  very  hard  rock  on  the  mountain — just  the  usual  lime 
and  sandstone  of  the  lower  lands.  Later  I was  to  find 


out  that  there  are  mountains  on  Venus,  young  as  the 
planet  is,  that  dwarf  our  highest  Terrestrial  hills  into 
pitiful  insignificance. 

Our  survey  of  the  village  completed,  we  returned  to 
my  “home,”  where  I indicated  by  signs  and  as  much 
of  my  new  language  as  I knew  that  I would  like  to  see 
my  companion  “visitor” — Von  Kressen.  So  one  of 
them  hunted  up  the  Witch  Doctor,  who  conducted  us 
to  the  cave  where  lay  his  patient.  The  Von  was  asleep 
when  we  came  in,  but  his  face  indicated  a rise  in  the 
fever  which  had  set  in,  and  a coming  delirium.  I was 
thankful  that  the  village  was  high  above  sea  level.  On 
the  lowlands  the  fever  would  be  fatal,  I was  certain. 
Two  girls,  who  I subsequently  learned  were  the  phy- 
sician’s daughters,  were  applying  skins  soaked  in  cold 
water  to  the  forehead  and  face  of  the  patient. 

My  two  teachers  left  me  here,  and  I returned  alone 
and  unguarded  to  my  cave,  where  my  guard  actually 
greeted  me  with  a smile.  I sat  with  him  the  rest  of 
the  afternoon,  and  when  I made  it  known  to  him  that 
I would  like  him  to  teach  me  a little  more  of  his  tongue, 
he  was  delighted  beyond  measure.  Thus  the  afternoon 
passed  quickly  and  entertainingly,  and  as  I rolled  be- 
neath my  stag-hide  that  night  it  was  with  the  knowledge 
that  these  handsome  savages  were  no  longer  enemies, 
but  friends. 

The  next  day  my  instructors  called  again,  and  again 
the  next,  and  by  the  time  a week  was  up  I had  made 
wonderful  progress  in  the  tongue  of  my  friendly 
captors. 

It  was  early  on  the  morning  of  the  eighth  day  that 
they  came  with  two  other  warriors,  and  entering,  one 
of  them  addressed  me. 

“The  Princess  Deena  wishes  your  immediate  pres- 
ence in  the  throne-room,”  he  said,  “to  speak  with  you 
over  a very  important  matter.  Come !” 

CHAPTER  VI 

A Strange  Proposal 

“T  HAVE  asked  you  to  appear  before  me  in  order 

A that  I might  discuss  with  you  an  important  pro- 
posal that  I am  sure  will  prove  satisfactory  to  all  con- 
cerned,” began  Princess  Deena  to  me,  as  my  party  and 
I stood  before  her  throne. 

“It  is  a great  pleasure  to  me  to  have  the  Princess 
Deena  deign  to  notice  me  at  all,”  I replied,  truthfully, 

‘ and  I shall  most  heartily  do  all  in  my  power  toward 
the  furtherance  of  her  desires.”  This  with  the  mental 
reservation,  “Provided  they  do  not  interfere  with  the 
comfort  and  well-being  of  my  companion  and  me.” 

Deena  nodded. 

“What  is  your  name?”  she  asked. 

“Kenneth  Marx;  Archaeologist  of  the  National  In- 
stitute at  Washington,  U.  S.  A.” 

“How?”  inquired  the  Princess,  looking  puzzled  at 
my  lengthy  reply. 

I repeated  my  statement,  and  when  she  asked  what 
that  meant,  I explained  to  her  as  well  as  I was  able. 
After  that  she  wanted  to  know  where  my  country  was, 
to  which  I replied  that  it  was  very  far  away — a.  great, 
great  distance — and  that  had  to  satisfy  her. 

“The  reason  I have  called  you  is  this,”  she  spoke  up 


308 


WONDER  STORIES 


then,  “You  and  the  white-haired  one  are  mighty  fight- 
ers. Alone  you  two  killed  twelve  of  my  warriors  with 
the  strange  weapons  that  slay  at  a long  distance  with  a 
great  noise.  What  I want  to  do  is  make  you  members 
of  my  tribe,  and  have  you  teach  my  warriors  how  to 
use  the  things  that  make  the  noise  and  throw  fire.  You 
will  receive  a large  cave,  will  have  all  the  chances  of 
chieftainship  that  our  men  have,  and  each  of  you  can 
choose  as  many  wives  as  you  can  support  from  the 
many  untaken  girls  in  the  tribe  of  Karna.  I am  sure 
that  many  of  them  would  be  perfectly  willing  to  go 
through  our  marriage  rites  with  you.  What  say  you  ?“ 

I scratched  my  head.  In  some  ways  the  proposal 
was  alluring.  It  meant  that  joining  the  tribe  would 
render  us  immune  to  further  danger  through  our  cap- 
tors,  and  we  could  do  as  we  pleased  in  the  neighboring 
country.  We  were  by  no  means  bound  to  marry  any 
of  their  women — ^though  take  it  from  me,  there  were 
none  of  them  hard  to  look  at.  Further,  we  could  more 
easily  conduct  our  scientific  research  in  ways  of  animal 
and  botanical  life  forms.  And  lastly,  by  teaching  the 
Cro-Magnons  the  use  of  firearms  we  would  be  giving 
mankind  on  Venus  a tremendous  advance  toward  the 
mastery  of  the  planet. 

“Well?”  prompted  Deena,  when  a minute  of  deep 
silence  had  passed. 

“For  my  own  part,  I would  greatly  enjoy  taking 
advantage  of  your  generous  proposal,”  I replied,  “But 
would  it  not  be  well  to  ask  my  companion  also?” 

Deena  nodded.  “I  intend  to  ask  him,  when  he  is 
fully  recovered.  Just  now  he  is  too  ill  to  be  disturbed, 
but  in  a few  days  I will  see  both  of  you  again.  In  the 
meantime  you  will  be  permitted  full  freedom  of  action 
within  our  community,  and  have  ample  time  to  reflect 
on  the  proposition  I have  made  you.” 

With  that  she  rose  and  moved  behind  the  throne  to 
a bearskin  hanging  on  the  wall,  behind  which  she  dis- 
appeared, thereby  terminating  the  interview.  The  war- 
riors congregated  within  the  chamber  now  dispersed, 
save  the  few  who  were  on  constant  guard  beside  the 
crude  throne  of  stgtely  Deena. 

“Kenneth  Marx,  Aurignacian  warrior,”  I ruminated, 
reflecting  as  the  Cave  Princess  had  suggested,  on  the 
proposal  made  to  me.  I was  in  something  of  a quan- 
dary. If  I accepted,  my  future  on  Venus  was  more 
assured ; but  then,  I might  never  again  have  an  oppor- 
tunity to  return  to  my  own  world.  If  I refused,  it 
was  quite  likely  that  I might  be  requested  to  stage  a 
wrestling  match  with  the  very  substantial-looking  rock 
set  up  in  the  center  of  the  village,  while  an  appreciative 
company  of  painted  savages  expressed  their  enthusiasm 
of  my  exhibition  by  accompanying  it  with  a Stone  Age 
version  of  the  Undertakers’  Tango.  And  doubtless 
some  aspiring  young  cook  would,  with  the  assistance  of 
my  bare  feet,  render  an  artistic  performance  of  his 
culinary  ability. 

The  morei  I thought  of  it,  the  more  rosy  seemed  the 
benevolent  proposition  handed  me  by  the  solicitous 
Deena.  So  I decided  to  accept  her  generous  offering, 
but  elected  to  wait  with  the  announcement  until  Von 
Kressen  had  recovered  from  his  illness ; and  with  this 
in  mind  I turned  from  the  outer  entrance  of  the  throne 
room  toward  my  own  cavern.  On  the  way  I paused 


at  the  Witch  Doctor’s  cave  and  looked  in  to  see  the 
Von,  but  he  was  still  asleep. 

Coming  to  my  own  cave,  I sat  at  the  entrance  and 
looked  out  at  the  white,  pillowy  clouds  that  floated  above, 
and  saw  that  the  sun  was  struggling  to  break  through 
them.  And  at  last — ^the  clouds  opened  a little,  and  a 
shaft  of  light,  dazzling  by  comparison  to  the  murky 
days  I had  thus  far  seen,  struck  my  eyes.  A moment 
later  I saw  the  sun — with  a diameter  apparently  one 
and  a third  times  as  great  as  when  seen  from  the 
Earth.  Its  color  was  a deep,  reddish  orange,  for  the 
dense  water-vapor  of  the  Venusian  atmosphere  absorbs 
all  the  shorter  rays,  and  only  the  longer  light-waves 
break  through.  On  thin-aired  Mercury  the  sun  is  no 
doubt  white  with  a bluish  tinge  and  in  diameter  seems 
two  and  a half  times  as  great  as  when  it  is  seen  from 
the  Earth. 

Kidnapped ! 

WITH  the  sight  of  the  sun  came  the  desire  to  be 
doing  something,  and  my  mind  turned  to  Raoul 
Parri,  and  the  search  that  my  convalescing  companion 
and  I had  instituted  for  him.  I wondered  if  Parri  still 
lived.  It  was — ^let  me  see — sixteen  days  since  we  had 
landed  on  Venus,  and  eleven  since  Parri  had  disap- 
peared. There  was  little  likelihood  that  our  French 
colleague  was  stilT  living,  for  if  the  savage  warriors 
who  had  captured  him  had  not  already  killed  him,  then 
he  must  have  died  from  the  merciless  jungle  fever  that 
had  certainly  set  in  through  his  wounds.  The  idea  of 
his  death  fairly  made  me  boil,  and  then  and  there  I 
vowed  to  avenge  him.  And  the  best  thing  to  do  to 
accomplish  that  would  be  to  obtain  the  assistance  of  the 
Cro-Magnon  men  in  whose  village  I was.  There  was 
no  time  for  delay,  and  I would  have  to  immediately  in- 
form Deena  of  my  decision  regarding  her  offer.  So  I 
arose  and  moved  to  her  cave.  As  I entered  the  throne- 
chamber,  one  of  the  half  dozen  guards  accosted  me. 
“What  do  you  wish,  stranger?” 

“I  have  decided  to  accept  the  offering  of  Princess 
Deena,  and  come  to  notify  her  of  my  acceptance.” 

The  guard  vanished  behind  the  bearskin  hanging  on 
the  wall,  to  emerge  again  in  a few  minutes. 

“The  Princess  is  not  in  her  chambers.  She  has  gone 
bird-hunting,  her  handmaid  informs  me.” 

I was  a trifle  disappointed,  but  I nodded  to  the  man 
and  asked  him  to  tell  Deena  of  my  decision  when  she 
returned,  then  moved  out  again  into  the  sunlight. 

Here  I began  a slow  amble  about  the  village,  occa- 
sionally speaking  with  some  of  the  savage  warriors,  or 
again  playing  with  the  dozens  of  naked  imps  who  stared 
at  me  as  though  awe-stricken  and  then  fell  to  shrieking 
and  laughing  as  they  raced  like  scared  rabbits  over  the 
grounds  of  the  village. 

Presently  I reached  a place  where  there  were  no  dwell- 
ings and  no  people,  and  thus  comparatively  quiet.  I 
was  on  the  point  of  turning  back  to  the  more  settled 
part  of  the  cave-town  when  there  came  faintly  to  my 
ears  the  muffled  scream  of  a woman. 

I stopped.  Princess  Deena — ? For  a moment  I 
could  not  place  the  direction  from  which  the  sound 
came,  when  I heard  a sharp  exclamation  of  pain,  this 
time  in  the  low,  gruff  tones  of  a man.  The  sound  came 


THE  WAR  LORD  OF  VENUS 


309 


from  my  right,  somewhere  in  the  forest.  I turned 
toward  it  and  ran  as  I had  to  run  to  Von  Kressen’s  aid 
the  day  we  were  captured.  A score  of  times  I tripped 
and  fell,  to  rise  and  race  on  again.  Ahead  of  me  I 
could  hear  nothing  more,  and  it  never  occurred  to  me 
to  shout  in  order  to  notify  the  woman  who  had  screamed 
that  I was  coming  to  her  assistance. 

Suddenly  I burst  out  upon  a tiny  natural  clearing.  I 
could  not  check  myself  quickly  enough,  and  so  tripped 
and  sprawled  over  the  prone  body  of  a warrior  who 
lay  on  his  back  in  the  loam.  Rising  I knelt  beside  him 
and  examined  him.  I recalled  seeing  him  as  one  of 
Deena’s  trusted  couriers;  a chief  very  high  in  her 
esteem.  Sticking  from  his  chest  was  a wooden  war- 
arrow  of  the  ytpe  used  by  the  Venusian  Cro-Magnons, 
shot  with  such  force  that  half  a foot  of  it  emerged 
from  his  back,  where  it  had  broken  as  his  dead  body 
fell  upon  it. 

In  the  soft  loam  I could  see  his  footprints  from 
where  they  emerged  from  the  forest,  and  beside  them 
were  smaller  ones,  a woman’s,  encased  in  leathern  san- 
dals. Where  the  dead  warrior  lay  the  woman’s  foot- 
prints were  much  deeper  at  the  ball  of  the  foot  and 
the  loam  was  shoved  toward  the  toes,  indicating  that 
the  maker  of  the  tracks  had  come  to  a sudden  and  unin- 
tended halt. 

Apparently  Deena’s  courtier  had  been  killed  from 
ambush,  the  deadly  missile  coming  from  the  opposite 
side  of  the  clearing  than  that  from  which  he  had 
emerged.  At  his  feet  the  soil  was  torn  and  disturbed, 
and  there  were  many  interminglings  of  the  woman’s 
sandaled  feet  with  the  great,  naked  feet  of  an  unknown 
male  assailant,  no  doubt  the  same  who  had  slain  the 
man. 

Aind  lastly,  fluttering  on  the  ground  in  the  trampled 
area  were  several  of  the  gaudy  feathers  torn  from 
Deena’s  head-dress.  Only  Deena  wore  the  brilliant 
feathers — the  other  women  of  the  clan  had  none,  and 
the  feather-bonnets  of  the  men  were  composed  of  the 
grey-black  plumage  of  the  birds  of  prey.  One  of  these 
feathers  also  lay  on  the  soil. 

Searching  for  additional  clues,  I presently  found  the 
footprints  of  the  attacker  leave  the  clearing,  and  that 
he  bore  a struggling,  fighting  burden  was  evidenced 
by  the  depth  and  irregularity  of  his  footprints.  These 
I followed  fairly  easily,  since  burdened  as  the  man — 
there  seemed  to  be  only  one — was  with  the  not  incon- 
siderable weight  of  Deena,  he*could  do  little  toward 
covering  up  his  trail. 

Care  had  to  be  taken  that  I might  not  lose  the  track, 
and  this  retarded  my  progress  to  a slight  extent,  but 
still  I covered  the  ground  at  about  twice  the  pace  of 
Deena’s  abductor.  Now  I assume  he  had  some  twenty 
minutes  start  of  me,  and  it  took  me  about  ten  minutes 
more  to  overtake  him;  but  at  that  time  it  seemed  an 
eternity  ere  I at  length  burst  out  upon  a fairly  large 
clearing,  into  the  opposite  edge  of  which  he  had  just 
disappeared.  Somehow  I had  a terrible  fear  that  harm 
might  befall  Deena,  but  why  I considered  the  whole 
affair  so  very  personal  to  me,  I could  not  have  told 
you — ^then. 


A Desperate  Struggle 

The  brief  glimpse  I had  obtained  of  the  big  warrior 
with  his  still  struggling  burden  had  served  to  toss 
all  discretion  to  the  winds,  and  I leaped  after  him, 
never  thinking  of  the  possibility  of  his  lying  in  wait  for 
me  in  the  verdure  at  the  edge  of  the  clearing,  ready  to 
despatch  me  with  an  arrow  as  soon  as  I came  close 
enough  to  insure  success  at  the  first  shot. 

But  the  fellow  evidently  expected  no  pursuit,  and 
thus  it  was  that  I had  shot  into  the  forest  after  him 
and  was  already  leaping  for  his  back  ere  he  could  turn 
at  the  sound  of  my  footsteps. 

My  hurtling  body  struck  his  right  shoulder  and  sent 
him,  his  captive,  and  myself  into  a tangled  mass  of 
writhing  bodies  and  kicking  legs  from  which  Deena,  as 
the  girl  had  indeed  turned  out  to  be,  was  the  first  to 
extract  herself.  Now  she  stood  a little  to  one  side 
while  the  warrior  and  I staged  an  all’s-fair  rough-and- 
tumble  between  the  boles  of  the  trees,  against  which 
we  frequently  cracked  our  heads.  My  opponent  had, 
to  my  way  of  thinking,  the  strength  of  an  elephant, 
and  with  his  two  powerful  arms  about  me  was  slowly 
but  surely  crushing  my  ribs.  After  a desperate  effort 
I managed  to  grasp  one  of  his  wrists  and  twisted  it 
until  his  hand-clasp  on  my  back  broke,  then  I struggled 
free  and  scrambled  to  my  feet. 

He  was  up  right  after  me,  and  for  the  first  time 
during  the  struggle  I had  a clear  view  of  his  face.  I 
recognized  him  at  once  as  one  of  Deena’s  chieftains, 
whom  I had  seen  on  the  occasions  that  I was  presented 
at  the  throne-room.  He  was  not  bad-looking,  as  far  as 
physical  appearances  go,  but  there  was  a glitter  of  lust 
and  avarice  in  his  eyes  that  aroused  a deep  distrust  of 
him  in  me  from  the  time  I first  saw  him. 

Now  he  glared  at  me  and  with  a deep,  sullen  growl 
launched  himself  upon  me.  I braced  myself,  feinted  at 
his  abdomen  with  myjeft  fist,  and  as  his  arms  came 
down  I corked  him  on  the  jaw  with  my  right.  A grunt 
of  surprise  was  elicited  by  the  blow  and  he  staggered 
backward,  his  rush  checked,  but  he  did  not  fall. 

But  the  blow  had  befuddled  him,  and  he  was  open 
to  all  the  hard  swings  that  I planted  at  his  face  and 
body.  However,  he  was  the  toughest  egg  I ever  tried 
to  crack,  for  though  he  swayed  and  rocked  and  staggered 
drunkenly  under  the  force  of  my  hits,  I could  not  sink 
him.  And  one  time  he  gave  a wild  swing  with  his 
right  fist — and  for  some  unknown  reason  I had  to  poke 
my  face  in  its  path.  He  nearly  knocked  me  loose  from 
my  teeth  that  time.  When  his  pile-driver  connected 
with  my  jaw  a singing  and  humming  sound  that  was 
not  altogether  unfamiliar  to  me  shot  through  my  throb- 
bind  head,  and  I executed  a backward  somersault 
which  landed  me  against  the  bole  of  a tree,  upon  which 
I proceeded  to  bump  my  skull.  The  second  crack,  how- 
ever, tended  to  disperse  the  mist  that  had  come  before 
my  eyes  as  a result  of  the  first,  and  thus  I was  very 
much  awake  as  I sprang  to  my  feet,  swearing. 

The  other  was  awaiting  me,  grim  and  silent,  when 
a new  element  entered  the  combat.  The  fellow  cocked 
his  head  to  one  side  suddenly,  and  as  I rushed  at  him 
he  turned  and  shot  swiftly  into  the  forest. 

{Continued  on  page  367) 


IN  20,000  A.  D. 

By  NATHAN  SCHACHNER 
and  ARTHUR  L.  ZAGAT 


(.Illustration  by  Paul) 


I could  see  the  crowd  and  Karet  floating  above  them.  They  looked  like  ghosts — red  ghosts 
stretching  away  as  far  as  I could  seel 


310 


IN  ^0,000  A.D.  ! 

By  the  Authors  of  "The  Tower  of  Evir 


|OT  all  superstitions  are  devoid  of  reality. 
Sometimes  old  wives’  tales  come  true.  And 
then  there  is  a grand  gathering  of  the  long- 
bearded  clans,  much  arguing  pro  and  con, 
and  finally,  perhaps,  a triumphant  bringing 
of  the  old  wives’  tale  under  the  aegis  of  science. 

Take  the  case  of  the  “Vanishing  Wood’’  at  Blaymont. 
Just  outside  that  sleepy  Long  Island  town  a little  grove 
of  scrub  pine  and  tangled  underbrush  had  been  shunned 
for  centuries.  Peculiarly  enough,  the  taboo  seemed 
to  affect  not  only  the  human  denizens  of  the  countryside, 
but  even  the  animals.  No  straying  cattle  had  ever  been 
known  to  seek  the 
cool  recesses . of  the 
little  copse.  No  wan- 
dering dog  of  the 
neighborhood  ever 
investigated 
the  tempting  shad- 
ows of  the  little 
wood.  No  birds 
nested  in  its  trees. 

When  an  infre- 
quent visitor  to  Blay- 
mont, upon  being 
solemnly  warned 
against  entering  the 
“Vanishing  Wood,’’ 
made  inquiry,  he 
could  elicit  nothing 
definite.  But  when 

the  natives  were  together,  with  no  outsider  present,  old 
tales  would  be  revived  in  shuddering  whispers.  Once 
long  ago,  a wild  calf  of  old  man  Jones  had  dashed  into 
those  woods.  He  had  never  come  out ! And  sometimes 
a mother  would  frighten  her  erring  youngster  with  the 
story  of  little  Abby  Green.  How  the  two-year  old  had 
wandered  away  one  afternoon.  How  search  had  been 
made  for  her,  and  her  footprints  traced  to  the  mysteri- 
ous wood.  How  nothing  had  ever  again  been  seen 
of  her. 

Oh,  there  were  plenty  of  shuddersome  incidents  told 
with  bated  breath  about 


ARTHUR  L.  ZAOAT 


HAT  SCHACHHER 


the  “Vanishing  Wood” 
of  Blaymont ! But  never 
such  a tale  as  Tom  Jen- 
kins told  when  at  last  he 
unsealed  his  lips. 

Tom  was  the  last  man 
one  would  pick  for  a hero 
of  wild  adventure.  A 
great,  hulking  farmer  lad, 
his  schooling  had  barely 
fulfilled  the  none  too  ex 
igent  requirements  of  the 
law.  His  most  errant 
thoughts,  it  seemed,  never 
wandered  far  from  the 
care  of  his  widowed 
mother’s  little  farm.  His 
wildest  evenings  were 
those  spent  in  drawling 
conversation  round  the 


rHE  mere  mention  of  words  cannot  convey 
truly  the  thrill  that  the  editors  experienced 
when  they  read  this  marvelous  time-traveling 
story.  Imagine  yourself  suddenly  rushed  through 
time  and  finding  yourself  thrown  into  the  year 
20,000  A.D. I Into  a world  of  which  we  know 
nothing  and  one  that  even  your  most  fantastic 
dreams  cannot  picture  adequately! 

We  know  that  in  18,000  years  the  world 
will  have  changed  so  enormously  (that  is  the 
human  race  and  its  civilization  will  have 
changed)  that  it  will  be  practically  unrecog- 
nizable. A man  of  to-day,  even  possessed  of  the 
broadest  education  and  vision  would  find  him- 
self in  a terrible  plight  if  thrown  into  that 
world.  Imagine  then  the  predicament  in  this 
startling  story  of  a country  boy  who  is  forced 
to  play  a part  in  the  stirring  events  of  a great 
civilization! 


pot-bellied  stove  in  the  general  store. 

It  was  one  of  those  nights  at  the  village  social  club 
that  began  Tom’s  strange  adventure.  The  talk  had 
turned  to  the  “Vanishing  Wood.”  First  one,  then  an- 
other had  spun  his  narrative;  the  tale  handed  down 
from  some  grandfather.  As  the  mounting  crescendo 
of  horror  had  drawn  the  circle  of  chairs  closer  and 
closer  to  the  glowing  stove,  Tom  had  become  more  and 
more  excited.  Some  unsuspected  streak  of  skepticism 
in  his  dull  soul  was  being  irritated  by  the  superstitious 
talk.  At  last  he  could  contain  himself  no  longer. 

“I  don’t  believe  it!”  he  had  suddenly  burst  out,  to 

the  startled  surprise 
of  the  rustic  circle. 
“I  don’t  believe  it! 
It’s  all  a pack  o’  lies. 
For  two  cents  I’ll  go 
into  that  wood  any 
day.” 

The  others  looked 
at  him  in  amazement. 
This  was  almost  sac- 
rilege. “What’s  the 
matter  with  you, 
Tom?”  the  post- 
master had  ques- 
tioned. “Been  sam- 
pling some  of  Si  Per- 
kins’ hard  cider  ?” 
“No,  I’m  just  as 
sober  as  you.  And  I 
Say  again,  I don’t  believe  that  there’s  anything  queer 
about  that  wood.  None  of  you  have  ever  seen  anybody 
disappear  there.  All  these  things  you’ve  been  telling 
about  are  supposed  to  have  happened  long  ago.  That’s 
just  a bunch  of  trees,  and  I’m  a’going  to  prove  it.  No 
use  going  out  there  now.  But  tomorrow’s  Saturday,  and 
I’ll  be  done  with  my  ploughing  about  noon.  After  din- 
ner I’m  going  in  there,  and  I’ll  come  out,  too.  I dare 
any  of  you  to  come  with  me !” 

There  had  been  long  and  arduous  effort  to  dissuade 
Tom  from  his  rash  project.  But  to  no  avail.  He  was 

going  into  the  wood,  and 
they’d  have  to  tie  him  up 
to  stop  him! 

And  so,  the  afternoon 
of  October  10,  1931  had 
seen  a little  procession 
wending  its  way  up  the 
road  to  the  dread  pre- 
cincts. First  came  Tom, 
then  the  half  dozen  other 
nightly  visitors  to  the 
forum  at  the  general 
store.  Then  a fringe  of 
tow  - headed,  barefooted 
youngsters  whose  unerr- 
ing instinct  had  warned 
them  something  exciting 
was  afoot.  The  post- 
master and  the  village 
constable  were  still  busily 
engaged  in  persuading  the 


311 


312 


WONDER  STORIES 


young  farmer  to  give  up  his  daring  venture.  That 
individual  was  obdurate  however.  Not  that  he  was  alto- 
gether easy  about  the  safety  of  his  intended  deed.  Per- 
haps there  was  some  truth  in  the  old  tales.  But  to  back 
out  now  would  make  him  the  laughing  stock  of  the 
village. 

The  procession  halted  at  last  in  a grassy  meadow. 
Ten  feet  away  was  the  little  grove  whose  menace  has 
so  long  cast  its  ominous  shadow  over  these  fair  fields. 
A lone  figure  went  on  ahead.  Tom’s  knees  were  shak- 
ing, the  palpitation  of  his  heart  seemed  to  him  to  be 
visibly  rocking  his  massive  form.  But  he  managed  to 
turn  at  the  edge  of  the  wood,  waved  a cheery  hand,  and 
called  back  “See  you  in  ten  minutes.”  Then  he  plunged 
into  the  shadows. 

The  grey-bearded  justice  of  the  peace  held  his  turnip 
watch  so  that  all  might  see  it.  Five  minutes,  seven, 
dragged  slowly  by.  Ten  minutes;  Tom  should  have 
been  out.  But  no  Tom  appeared.  With  white  faces 
the  little  group  gazed  anxiously  at  the  dark  trees.  A 
quarter  of  an  hour,  thirty  minutes  passed  slowly  by.  It 
seemed  certain  now  that  the  lad  had  been  swallowed  up 
by  the  mystery  of  the  wood. 

All  afternoon  the  little  group  kept  its  vigil,  hope- 
lessly. They  called  and  called,  but  no  answering  hail 
came  from  out  those  dread  precincts.  There  was  none 
so  brave  as  to  venture  into  that  copse  in  attempted  res- 
cue. At  last,  the  fall  of  night  sealed  the  death  of  hope. 
Sadly  the  villagers  returned — each  reproaching  himself 
that  Tom  had  not  been  restrained  by  force. 

* * * * 

“Look  at  this,”  I said  to  my  chum,  pushing  a news- 
paper into  his  face. 

What  is  it?”  He  looked  at  me  indifferently,  “an- 
other one  of  your  newspaper  yarns.”  Sid  was  tired,  I 
guess,  of  having  me  show  him  my  scoops.  Sid  was  a 
scientist  and  took  a superior  attitude  towards  news- 
papers and  reporters. 

“Read  it !”  I urged  him.  And  when  he  took  the  paper, 
the  Blaymont  Courier,  and  read  a marked  notice  I read 
with  him  over  his  shoulder. 

TOM  JENKINS  RETURNS— REFUSES 
TO  TALK 

Thomas  Jenkins,  whose  mysterious  disappearance  in 
the  “Vanishing  Wood”  six  months  ago  will  be  well 
remembered  by  our  readers,  reappeared  just  as  mysteri- 
ously yesterday.  He  was  found  wandering  aimlessly, 
apparently  dazed,  in  Brown’s  Meadow  east  of  the  wood. 

Tom  was  brought  to  his  mother’s  home,  where  he 
quickly  recovered.  The  entire  neighborhood  gathered 
to  welcome  him,  and  hear  the  story  of  his  adventure, 
but  they  were  sadly  disappointed.  Jenkins  refused  to 
talk. 

When  the  editor  interviewed  the  returned  wanderer, 
he  could  elicit  nothing  from  him.  After  much  effort, 
however,  Jenkins  did  make  this  statement : 

“If  I told  you  where  I’ve  been  and  what  I’ve  seen  I’d 
land  in  the  lunatic  asylum.  So  I’m  not  saying  a word.” 

And  then  be  shut  up  like  a clam. 

“Well?”  Sid  handed  the  paper  back  to  me.  “What 
of  it?” 

“Doing  anything  tonight?  Do  you  want  to  exercise 
yourself  on  helping  me  to  pump  young  Mr.  Jenkins?” 


Sid’s  face  lighted  up.  “You  mean  that  your  paper 
thinks  there’s  something  in  this  story.” 

I grinned.  “No,  of  course  not.  But  it’ll  make  a 
good  yarn.” 

Sid  was  thoughtful  for  a few  moments.  Finally  he 
looked  at  me  queerly.  “Let’s  go,”  he  said  suddenly. 
“I  have  a hunch.” 

But  Sid  was  wrong,  he  had  no  possible  conception  of 
the  amazing  truth  of  what  we  were  to  hear. 

# * * >N 

We  had  no  trouble  in  finding  the  widow  Jenkins’ 
house — everyone  knew  its  location.  A little  knot  of 
curious  yokels  lingered  at  the  gate.  They  made  way 
for  us,  then  closed  in  again.  Our  knock  was  answered 
by  a little  old  lady  in  black.  She  was  bowed  by  years 
of  toil  and  tribulation,  her  face  seamed  with  care.  But 
there  was  a kindly  twinkle  in  her  eye  which  encouraged 
our  persistence  in  the  face  of  her  discouraging  reply 
to  our  inquiry. 

“No,  you  can’t  talk  to  Tom.  He  says  he  won’t  see 
nobody  and  won’t  talk  to  nobody.  ’Taint  money  he 
wants,  neither.  Just  wants  to  be  let  alone.” 

“But,  Mrs.  Jenkins,  we’ve  come  all  the  way  from 
New  York  to  see  him.  Surely  you  won’t  send  us  away 
without  a word.” 

“Well,  I’ll  ask  him.” 

A long  wait.  Apparently  the  old  lady  was  engaged 
in  persuading  her  son  to  see  us.  At  last  she  returned. 

“Alright.  He  says,  being  as  you’ve  come  such  a lon^ 
way  he’ll  see  you.  But  it  won’t  be  no  use !” 

We  entered  the  dark  and  musty  “parlor”  of  the  little 
house.  We  were  indeed  honored  guests ! A strapping 
farmer  lad  stood  spraddled  there  to  greet  us.  We  intro- 
duced ourselves.  A great  paw  engulfed  our  hands  in 
turn.  We  sat  down.  I was  very  careful,  I doubted 
whether  my  two  hundred  pounds  might  not  crack 
through  the  “sofa”  I had  chosen  as  the  most  substantial 
piece  of  furniture  in  the  room. 

I left  the  talking  to  Sid.  We  had  agreed  that  as  a 
scientist  he  might  succeed  where  a reporter  would  fail. 

There’s  no  use  in  detailing  the  long  argument.  We 
were  early  convinced  that  Jenkins  had  passed  through 
a most  interesting  experience.  The  level  look  of  those 
blue  eyes  assured  us  of  his  honesty.  But  he  would  not 
talk.  He  was  convinced  that  no  one  would  believe  his 
tale — ^that  the  narrative  would  be  set  down  as  the  rav- 
ings of  a madman — ^that  he  would  be  immediately 
incarcerated. 

At  last  we  reached  a compromise.  We  would  report 
the  adventures  through  which  he  had  passed,  but  would 
carefully  conceal  his  identity.  This  we  were  never  to 
reveal.  On  this  condition  he  would  tell  us  the  story. 

That  is  why  you  will  find  no  Blaymont  on  the  most 
detailed  map  of  Long  Island,  ^nd  Thomas  Jenkins’ 
name  is  something  entirely  different.  But  the  rest  of 
the  strange  things  hereinafter  set  forth  are  just  as  they 
were  told  to  us. 

We  are  utterly  convinced  that  Jenkins  did  see  and 
hear  the  things  he  told  about.  In  the  first  place,  he  has 
nothing  to  gain  by  lying.  He  has  absolutely  refused  to 
touch  a cent  of  what  we  shall  earn  with  this  narrative. 
No  other  motive  can  be  ascribed  to  him.  But  the  clinch- 


IN  20,000  A.D.I 


313 


ing  proof  of  the  authenticity  of  the  narrative  is  this. 
Tom  Jenkins  could  not  possibly  imagine  ninety-nine 
per  cent  of  what  he  told  us.  He  has  neither  the  educa- 
tion nor  the  experience.  It  is  impossible  to  impute  the 
requisite  scientific  knowledge  to  Jenkins. 

Far  into  the  night  Tom  Jenkins  talked,  and  we  wrote. 
Finally  his  tired  voice  ceased — our  cramped  fingers  re- 
laxed. The  tale  was  down  in  black  and  white,  the 
narrative  of  the  strangest  experience  man  ever  had. 
Here  it  is — in  Jenkins’  own  words. 

CHAPTER  II 

Thomas  Jenkins’  Narrative 

WELL,  (said  Tom  Jenkins,  settling  himself  more 
comfortably  in  his  chair,  the  while  puffing  con- 
templatively at  his  pipe)  it  was  this  way, 

I couldn’t  for  the  life  of  me  see  this  Vanishing  Wood 
business  at  all.  I had  some  school  learning  when  I was 
a kid,  and  I never  put  any  truck  in  superstitions.  So 
when  every  one  was  afraid  to  go  near  the  spot,  it  was 
up  to  me  to  be  the  brave  lad. 

Up  I marched  to  the  very  edge  of  the  wood,  the 
whole  town  afollowing  me,  every  man  jack  of  ’em  opin- 
ing what  a big  fool  I turned  out  to  be.  And  for  all 
my  bold  front  and  swaggering  walk,  that  was  just  what 
I was  beginning  to  feel.  “You  blooming  idiot,”  said  I 
to  myself.  “Now  you’ve  gone  and  done  it.  Supposin’ 
there’s  something  to  it,  and  it  gets  you.  Then  where’ll 
you  be  with  your  boasting.” 

For  a while  I was  minded  to  turn  back,  but  I took 
one  look  at  that  bunch  following  and  I says  to  myself. 
“Tom  my  lad,  you’ll  never  hear  the  end  of  it,  if  you 
quit  now — ^they’ll  josh  you  all  your  born  days.”  So 
I put  a bold  face  on’t,  turns  to  the  neighbors,  waves  my 
hand  as  cheerful  as  brass,  and  marches  into  the  clump 
of  trees. 

Well  sirs,  I took  a couple  steps  and  nothing  happens. 
My  nerve  sorta  returned  at  that,  and  I began  to  feel 
chipper  and  scornful  like.  “Ho,  ho,  just  as  I thought, 
it’s  all  blarney,”  I said:  “Nothing’s  gonta  happen — ^this 
old  wood’s  just  like  any  other.” 

Meanwhile  I’m  walking  further  in.  Another  coupla 
steps  and  I come  to  a little  clearing.  It  struck  me  as 
peculiar  then.  For  on  the  opposite  side  the  trees  were 
acting  funny.  Instead  of  standing  up  tall  and  straight 
as  honest  self-respecting  trees  ought.  I’ll  be  hanged  if 
these  trees  didn’t  all  lean  way  over  in  a sort  of  a double 
curve.  There  was  a path  in  between,  and  on  each  side 
the  trees  leaned  away  from  it,  like  as  though  it  was  a 
funnel. 

It  was  a bit  queer  all  right,  and  I sure  felt  like  turn- 
ing back.  But  my  pride  was  up,  and  nothing  had  hap- 
pened yet,  so  in  I went. 

(Tom  Jenkins  paused.  His  pipe  was  out.  Deliber- 
ately he  knocked  the  ashes  out,  very  slowly  he  filled  it 
to  the  brim  with  fragrant  leaf,  tamped  it  down  care- 
fully several  times,  lit  up,  and  puffed  leisurely  until 
the  blue  smoke  curled  lazily  overhead.  And  as  for  us, 
we  were  balancing  on  the  edges  of  our  chairs,  wild  with 
impatience  for  him  to  continue.  In  spite  of  my  annoy- 
ance, I recognized  a fellow  craftsman.  This  farmer 
boy  has  a flair  for  suspense,  I thought  admiringly. 


Now  that  his  pipe  was  drawing  to  his  entire  satisfac- 
tion, Tom  continued.) 

“As  I put  one  foot  on  the  path,  I felt  a tug  on  my 
leg.  Just  a little  one.  As  the  other  one  came  in  and 
down,  I knew  something  had  happened.  I tried  to  jump 
back,  but  it  was  too  late. 

I felt  myself  doubling  up  in  the  queerest  way — my 
whole  body  was  contorting  like  an  acrobat’s,  and  strang-. 
est  of  all,  just  the  same  way  as  the  trees.  I was  pushed 
by  something  down  the  path.  The  trees  were  gettin’ 
more  and  more  twisted,  and  I was  twisting  with  ’em 
till  I felt  all  tied  up  in  knots.  The  path  opened  a bit, 
and  there — at  the  end  of  it — was  nothing,  absolutely 
nothing!’’ 

(Gone  was  Tom’s  nonchalance  now.  He  was  leaning 
forward,  tense  with  earnestness,  with  desperate  anxiety 
for  us  to  believe  him.) 

“Gentlemen,”  he  averred  solemnly,  “as  God  is  my 
witness,  the  trees,  the  land,  the  grass,  the  ground — 
everything  had  disappeared.  There  was  no  sun,  no 
air  even,  nothing  but  nothingness.  And — ^this  nothing- 
ness seemed  curved,  distorted,  just  like  the  trees,  just 
like  myself.  Don’t  ask  me  to  explain  it,  or  how  I saw 
it — I can’t.  Just  take  my  word  for  it — I knew  it.” 

(A  great  light  dawned  on  me.  I knew  enough  of 
science  to  guess  at  the  answer,  I looked  at  Sid — it  had 
struck  him  too,  and  he  nodded  back  at  me  excitedly. 
Jenkins  continued.) 

I was  pushed  right  into  that  emptiness.  Instantly 
everything  went  dazzling  white;  showers  of  sparks 
danced  and  climbed  all  about  me.  I was  falling  and 
falling.  Not  straight  down,  mind  you,  but  bending  and 
twisting  all  the  time,  just  like  I was  in  the  ocean  and 
the  waves  was  carryin’  me  up  and  down,  up  and  down. 

It  was  the  queerest  feeling.  Nothing  to  be  seen  but 
that  blinding  light,  and  my  insides  turning  inside -out. 
How  long  it  kept  up,  I don’t  know.  It  seemed  though 
as  though  I was  goin’  on  forever,  failin’  and  twistin’ !” 

(Tom  paused  and  relit  his  pipe.  “How  would  you 
like  to  feel  like  a blooming  contortionist,  with  your  ears 
where  your  toes  ought  to  be?”  he  demanded. 

Meekly  we  replied,  that  we  wouldn’t  like  the  idea 
at  all.  Satisfied  with  that,  he  went  on.) 

Just  as  I was  thinkin’  to  myself  “Tom  old  boy,  you’re 
a goner.  You’re  dead  and  gone.  Had  you  been  a good 
lad  back  there,  maybe  you’da  landed  in  Heaven;  now 
you’re  in  the  other  place” — just  as  I was  thinkin’  that, 
I came  down  with  a bump  that  knocked  me  silly. 

Seeing  Things 

WHEN  I come  to,  there  I was  lying  flat  on  my 
back  right  in  the  middle  of  the  clearing,  close  by 
the  entrance  to  the  path.  There  were  the  same  queer 
trees  leaning  the  same  queer  way.  My  head  hurt  some- 
thin’ awful,  but  it  all  cleared  soon,  and  I scrambled  to 
my  feet. 

I didn’t  know  whether  to  laugh  or  cry,  I was  that 
flabbergasted.  I sure  was  tickled  to  find  myself  alive 
again,  and  back  where  I started.  But  at  the  same  time 
I was  a mite  disappointed.  All  that  failin’  and  twistin’ 
and  I hadn’t  gotten  anywhere.  “Musta  fallen  over  a 
root  and  hit  my  head  a clout,”  I thinks  to  myself,  “and  I 
dreamt  it  all  while  dizzy.” 


314 


WONDER 

I had  enough,  so  I turned  to  go  out  and  tell  the  folks 
about  it.  I reach  the  edge  o’  the  woods  all  right,  but 
there  I stop.  “What’s  this,’’  I says,  rubbing  my  eyes, 
“must  be  I’m  dreaming  yet.” 

For  there,  where  old  man  Brown’s  meadow  oughta 
be,  wi’  the  little  brook  running  through  it,  an’  the  cows 
feeding  on  the  grass,  an’  all  the  people  watchin’  for 
me, — was  nothin’  o’  the  sort.  They  was  all  gone ! 

Instead,  I’m  looking  at  such  a sight  as  I’d  never  seen 
in  all  my  born  days.  Nor  anybody  else,  I’ll  be  bound. 
’Twas  like  something  out  of  a fairy  tale.  You  know, 
^e  kind  you  read  when  you  was  kids. 

In  front  of  me  was  a great  big  park,  stretching  along 
for  miles.  The  grass  was  bright  and  green,  just  like 
a lawn.  There  were  flowers  and  flowers — I never  seen 
so  many  all  together  in  one  place.  And  such  flowers — ■ 
great  big  ones  a foot  wide — ^yellow  and  red  and  purple. 
And  the  whole  air  was  perfumed  wi’  the  scent  of  ’em, 
like  honeysuckle  and  roses.  There  were  paths  all 
through  the  place,  and  lots  of  fountains  that  threw 
colored  water  into  the  air,  and  statues — queer  statues. 
They  didn’t  look  like  anything  I ever  seen  before.  And 
I’ve  been  to  the  Museum  of  Art  down  in  New  York 
once,  too. 

“Tom,  my  boy,”  says  I to  myself — ^you  know  I’ve  a 
habit  of  talking  out  loud  when  I’m  excited,  sort  o’  does 
my  thinkin’  for  me,  “that  clout  on  the  head,  you  got, 
must  ha’  been  a whopper,  you’re  still  seein’  things.* 

Just  then  I look  up  into  the  air  and  I get  another 
shock.  The  sky  is  full  of  all  sorts  of  airships  an’  aery- 
planes.  But  nothin’  like  the  kind  we  get  flying  over 
here  every  day  from  Mineola.  There  were  some  like 
great  big  ships,  musta  been  a thousand  foot  long,  made 
of  a shiny  white  metal,  and  going  at  a terrific  clip. 
Others  were  smaller,  and  some  seemed  like  little 
specks — darned  !if  they  didn’t  look  like  people  just  flyin’ 
about  wi  ’nothin’  under  them. 

As  I’m  lookin’  at  them,  sorta  dazed  like,  I see  one 
great  big  ship  leave  the  ground  about  a mile  off,  and 
shoot  straight  up  into  the  air.  No  circlin  ’or  spiralling, 
or  tryin’  to  get  a start,  just  vertical.  And  it  keeps 
goin’  up  at  a great  clip,  gets  smaller  and  smaller,  and 
disappears  in  the  sky.  Looked  like  it  was  headed  for 
the  moon.” 

(He  looked  at  us  defiantly,  and  said.  “And  by  Jingo, 
would  you  believe  it,  I found  out  afterwards  that  was 
just  where  it  was  goin’, — to  the  moon.” 

Evidently  he  feared  our  disbelief,  so  we  hastened  to 
nod  our  heads  vigorously.  A sigh  of  relief  burst  from 
the  honest  lad,  and  he  continued  more  confidently.) 

I got  a crick  in  my  neck  watching  it,  an’  I looked 
back  to  earth  again.  Then  I gets  a real  shock.  Right 
in  front  o’  me,  not  a hundred  yards  off,  stands  a giant, 
twelve  feet  high  if  he’s  an  inch,  an’  staring  at  me  as 


♦Jenkins  had  evidently  fallen  into  a warp  in  space.  The 
Vanishing  Wood  was  a pucker — a fault,  we  might  say,  borrow- 
ing a geologic  term — in  the  curvature  of  space. 

Through  this  warp  he  had  been  thrown  clear  out  of  our  three 
dimensions  into  a fourth  dimension.  There  he  slid  in  time  over 
the  other  side  of  the  ridge  or  pucker,  into  the  same  spot  in  the 
three-dimensional  world,  but  into  a different  era  in  time.  Notice 
that  he  had  not  traveled  an  inch  in  space;  all  his  journeying 
had  been  purely  in  time. 


STORIES 

if  his  life  depended  on  it.  God,  what  a sight  he  was 
to  scare  one  out  of  his  wits.  He  had  four  hands,  two 
where  they  usually  are,  and  two  more  extending  straight 
out  sideways  from  his  body  from  the  hips,  one  on  each 
side.  And  where  his  ears  shoulda  been,  were  large 
flaps,  shaped  just  like  clam  shells.  There  was  some- 
thin’ funny  about  his  eyes  too,  but  I couldn’t  make  it 
out  very  clearly,  what  wi’  the  distance  and  the  nervous 
state  I was  in.  He  wasn’t  no  white  man  either,  he  was 
black.  Not  black  like  our  colored  folks,  but  jet  black, 
like  a hole  in  the  ground  on  a dark  night.  He  had  on 
a close-fitting  yellow  jacket  that  left  his  arms  free,  and 
wide  baggy  yellow  breeches  cornin’  to  his  knees.  His 
legs  were  bare. 

Well  sirs,  you  kin  just  imagine  how  I felt.  I started 
to  say  my  prayers — I was  so  sure  he  was  goin’  to  eat 
me  up — but  I got  stuck  in  the  middle  (I  haven’t  said 
’em  much  since  I was  a shaver),  and  I had  to  start  all 
over  again. 

So  I closes  my  eyes,  counts  ten,  and  opens  ’em. 
Darned  if  the  giant  hasn’t  turned  tail  and  is  running 
away  as  fast  as  he  could,  boundin’  way  up  into  the  air 
on  each  jump. 

A Strange  Encounter 

1WAS  so  relieved  I cried  wi’  joy.  And  make  believe 
I wasn’t  a bit  proud  o’  myself,  chasin’  that  big  feller 
away  like  that. 

But  while  I’m  patting  myself  on  the  back,  and  won- 
derin’ what  to  do  next,  what  should  I see  but  this  same 
Jack-and-the-Beanstalk  feller  hot  footing  it  back  straight 
for  me.  And  right  in  back  of  him  there’s  somethin’ 
floatin’  in  the  air,  keeping  step  with  him.  Looked  like 
a canoe,  and  I could  just  see  a head  like  a balloon 
sticking  up. 

This  time  I got  real  scared,  and  started  to  run  back 
into  the  wood.  But  I remembered  what  was  in  there, 
and  I didn’t  dare.  So  I waited  ta  see  what  ’ud  happen. 

They  came  to  a stop  about  ten  yards  away  from  me, 
the  canoe  standing  still  in  the  air,  about  five  feet  off 
the  ground.  The  big  fellow  was  jabbering  away  in 
great  excitement  to  something  in  the  boat,  and  pointing 
at  me  with  one  of  his  four  arms. 

The  boat  drops  slowly  to  the  ground,  and  out  steps 
the  queerest  thing  you  ever  seen.  Even  in  my  worst 
dreams  I could  never  imagine  such  a creature.  I 
couldn’t  make  out  whether  it  was  human,  or  an  animal 
out  of  a zoo. 

It  was  ’bout  five  feet  tall,  and  all  I could  see  at  first 
was  a great  big  round  balloon  head,  bulging  way  out 
at  the  top.  If  was  smooth  and  leathery;  there  was  no 
hair  on  it.  Its  ears  were  flapped  like  the  giant’s. ' The 
eyes  on  it  were  starey,  and  as  it  started  to  look  at  me, 
blessed  if  another  pair  of  eyes  didn’t  pop  out  of  a pouch 
where  the  eyebrows  ought  to  be,  and  drop  on  a frame- 
work directly  in  front  of  the  first  pair,  like  a pair  of 
blooming  goggles,  and  all  four  eyes  were  examining 
me.  Enough  to  give  one  the  creeps. 

The  head  rested  on  a short  neck,  and  that  on  a body 
that  was  round  and  smooth  and  straight  like  the  pillars 
that  hold  up  a bank  building,  only  much  shorter,  o’ 
course.  There  was  no  hips  or  curves  in  the  body  and 
the  legs  were  also  short  and  dumpy. 


IN  20,000  A.D.I 


315 


The  chap  with  the  balloon  head  was  through  exam- 
faing  me,  and  evidently  satisfied  with  what  he  saw. 
His  mouth  widened,  and  he  spoke.  You  coulda  knocked 
me  over  with  a feather,  I was  that  surprised.  He  spoke 
English — leastwise  it  sounded  a good  deal  like  it — as 
though  he  was  a foreigner.  It  was  awfully  hard  to 
understand  him — ^the  words  sounded  queer,  but  I could 
make  ’em  out  after  a while.  There  were  lots  of  words 
he  used  I couldn’t  make  head  or  tail  out  of,  but  gener- 
ally I got  the  sense.  Afterwards,  when  I lived  with 
'em,  I had  no  trouble  about  it.  His  voice,  too,  was 
sweet,  like  music,  and  it  flowed  along. 

He  was  sayin’,  “You  seem  to  be  human,  like  this 
Robot  here,”  he  pointed  to  the  giant,  “but  you  are  a 
weakling,  undeveloped,  inferior  even  to  him.  Where 
did  you  come  from?” 

I pointed  to  the  wood.  I was  that  dumfounded  I 
couldn’t  speak. 

He  seemed  startled  at  that.  “From  there — impos- 
sible ! No  one  has  been  allowed  to  enter  the  Vanishing 
Wood  this  past  thousand  years!” 

Then  I found  my  voice  again.  “And  I’m  sorry  I 
ever  went  in  myself,  or  I wouldn’t  be  here  now.” 

“You  speak  our  tongue,  but  strangely,  barbarously. 
I wonder  now,  looking  at  you  again.”  I could  see  his 
four  eyes  focussin’  on  me  with  great  interest. 

“But  where  am  I,”  says  I.  Where’s  the  meadow,  an’ 
the  brook,  and  Blaymont?  I musta  fallen  into  Africa 
somewheres.  This  aint  Long  Island,  is  it?” 

He  was  puzzled,  I could  see.  “Blaymont,  Africa, 
Long  Island” — he  repeated  the  names  with  that  foreign 
accent  of  his,  as  if  he  never  heard  of  ’em  before.  Then 
he  looked  at  me  suddenly. 

“Why,  I’ve  heard  of  Africa  and  Long  Island.  Not 
the  other  though.  Those  are  old,  old  names.  This  was 
once  called  Long  Island,  ten  thousand  years  ago.  A»d 
you,  why  certainly,  you  resemble  those  ancient  pictures 
we  have  of  primitive  man.”  His  excitement  was  grow- 
ing. “Tell  me  what  happened  to  you  in  that  wood.” 

So  I told  him  as  best  I could,  from  beginnin’  to  end. 
When  I finished,  he  looked  at  me  sorta  awestruck. 
“What  a marvelous  find,”  he  exclaims,  “a  primitive 
man  from  18000  years  ago!  Alive!  Now  I know  why 
that  wood  was  forbidden.  It’s  an  entrance  from  other 
ages  and  other  times !” 

“Come  with  me,”  he  says,  “I’ll  take  you  to  the  coun- 
cil at  once.” 

CHAPTER  III 

In  20,000  A.D.I 

I WAS  a bit  worried,  but  he  looked  peaceful;  so  I 
jumps  into  the  boat,  as  he  motions.  I looked  about 
it  curious.  There  was  no  motor  or  gadgets  like  we 
have  in  aeryplanes ; only  a little  metal  box  in  front  with 
buttons  on  it.  Karet — that’s  the  fellow’s  name — hoists 
himself  in  beside  me,  shoots  out  a funny  hand,  and 
presses  a button.  A blue  light  shines  over  the  box,  and 
the  plane  rises  off  the  ground  right  up  into  the  air.  The 
Robot  is  left  below.  We’re  up  about  100  feet,  when 
he  presses  another  button.  The  light  changes  to  red- 
dish, and  off  we  shoot  on  a straight  line. 

I’m  too  busy  thinkin’  to  look  where  we’re  goin’. 


Somethin’  he  said,  keeps  stickin’  in  my  mind.  What 
was  that  about  me  bein’  primitive — a barbarian.  I felt 
kinda  sore  about  that.  I may  not  be  a world  beater, 
and  I ain’t  got  much  book  learnin’,  but  that  don’t  give 
nobody  a right  to  call  me  names.  Then  he  said  some- 
thin’ about  me  bein’  from  18000  years  ago.  That 
stopped  me.  That  meant  I’ve  gotten  somehow  into  the 
year  20,000,  as  near  as  I could  figger.  That  was  too 
much,  an’  I just  stopped  thinkin’. 

While  we  was  flyin’  along  I studied  this  queer  chap 
some  more.  I’ve  told  you  ’bout  his  four  eyes — now  I 
saw  that  he  had  no  nose,  just  an  opening  in  the  middle 
of  the  face — shaped  like — like — what  do  you  call  it, 
with  three  sides  ? 

(“Triangular,”  Sid  interjected  helpfully. 

“That’s  the  word  I meant.”  Tom  was  properly 
grateful.) 

Covering  this  tri — this  three  sided  slit  was  a gauzy 
affair  that  moved  in  and  out  as  the  creature  breathed. 
Below  was  the  mouth.  It  didn’t  have  no  teeth,  it  was 
just  a round  hole  that  widened  out  flat  when  it  talked. 

What  give  me  a turn,  though,  was  the  chap’s  arms 
and  hands.  There  was  only  two  of  ’em,  thank  God, 
but  they  was  long  and  wavy,  just  like  on  a devilfish, 
and  they  ended  in  five  fingers,  but  the  fingers  was  also 
long  and  wavy  an’  could  curl  any  which  way.  And  the 
cteature  could  pull  in  its  arms,  till  they  was  a foot  long, 
or  shoot  ’em  out  for  five  or  six  feet.  I never  could 
get  over  that  trick  of  theirs — it  always  gave  me  the 
jumps. 

And  his  feet  were  queer  too.  They  was  long  and 
flat,  and  solid  like  a horse’s  hoof.  They  was  all  bone — 
no  flesh  on  ’em.  He  didn’t  wear  no  shoes ; didn’t  need 
none,  I guess. 

Afterwards  I saw  that  the  other  things,  the  Robots 
as  the  Balloon-heads  called  them,  had  the  same  kind 
of  feet,  only  much  bigger.  Oh,  and  they  also  had  four 
eyes— ronly  they  couldn’t  push  the  extra  ones  back  into 
their  foreheads;  they  was  fixed  in  front  by  a bridge 
coming  out  from  the  tops  of  their  noses. 

The  plane  comes  down  to  the  ground,  an’  I looks 
around.  I’m  in  a city,  but  what  a city.  I used  to 
think  New  York  was  some  pumpkins,  but  you  can’t 
get  me  to  pay  any  attention  to  that,  after  what  I’ve  seen. 

There  were  buildings  on  buildings,  all  of  blue  tile, 
and  all  with  great  rose  colored  domes  over  ’em.  On 
the  blue  walls  was  worked  in  little  colored  stones  the 
most  beautiful  paintings,  the  same  as  in  church  win- 
dows. Each  building  was  surrounded  by  a park,  with 
fountains  and  lights,  and  great  wide  streets  ran  out 
from  each  building  through  the  park  like  the  spokes 
of  a wheel. 

As  we  got  out,  I saw  lots  of  creatures  like  the  Robot, 
and  a few  like  Karet.  Karet  told  me  that  they  were 
the  Masters,  who  ruled  the  world,  and  the  Robots  were 
the  workers. 

The  Masters  came  up  to  us,  and  looked  me  over 
while  Karet  explained  who  I was.  They  seemed  pretty 
much  excited  about  it.  The  Robots  crowded  around, 
talking  and  jabbering,  but  quite  a distance  away.  You 
could  see  they  daren’t  come  too  near  to  the  Masters. 

One  of  the  balloon-heads  says  to  Karet.  “You'll 
have  to  take  him  before  the  Jed.”  And  Karet  says 


316 


WONDER 


STORIES 


“yes.”  He  turns  to  me  and  says.  “Come  along.” 

So  we  go  into  the  biggest  building,  that  has  a great 
gold  sun  in  the  blue  tile  over  the  entrance.  Inside, 
it  was  all  open,  and  the  walls  was  covered  with  more 
pictures.  I happened  to  look  up  to  the  dome,  an’  half 
way  between  the  top  and  the  floor,  I saw  a great  white 
ball  bangin’  in  the  air.  There  was  nothin’  holding  it 
there,  no  ropes  or  cables  or  anything.  Just  resting  on 
air.  Over  it  was  a platform,  and  two  Robots  was 
standing  guardlike. 

Karet  saw  me  look  up,  and  says.  “That’s  where 
Jed  is — ^he’s  the  Superman.  I’m  taking  you  to  him.” 

“But  how,”  I wanted  to  know.  “I  don’t  see  no  stairs 
to  get  up  there.” 

“I’ll  show  you,”  he  answers,  and  he  makes  me  stand 
with  him  on  a little  platform  in  the  floor.  He  turns  a 
knob,  and  the  next  second,  we  both  goes  right  up  into 
the  air.  Before  I could  get  real  scared,  we  land  on  the 
platform.  Karet  speaks  to  one  of  the  guards,  an’  he 
bows,  an’  opens  a sliding  door  in  the  ball.  I had  time 
to  notice  it  was  made  o’  thick  glass — quartz,  they  tell 
me  afterward. 

I look  down  into  it,  expectin’  to  see  a man  or  a 
Master  or  somethin’  sitting  on  a throne  like  a King, 
but  I sure  didn’t  expect  what  I did  see. 

Jed  was  a tremendous  brain — nothin’  else,  floatin’  in 
the  middle  of  a liquid  like  calf’s  foot  jelly  before  it 
become  hard.  A great  big  gray  brain,  full  o’  lines  and 
ridges  an’  deep  twistings.  It  gave  me  the  shivers  to 
look  at  it.  (Even  now,  at  the  memory,  Tom  shuddered.) 

Would  you  believe  it;  thinkin’  of  that  Jed,  I can’t 
eat  calf’s  brains  any  more — it  goes  against  me.  And 
I used  to  be  very  fond  of  ’em  fried  in  bread  crumbs. 
(He  sighed  regretfully  at  the  lost  epicurean  delicacy.) 

Karet,  very  respectful  like,  tells  Jed  all  about  me, 
though  it  did  seem  laughable  to  tell  things  to  a brain 
floatin’  in  jelly. 

Then  I gets  a real  shock.  A voice  speaks  in  my  mind 
clear  as  a bell.  “I  already  know  of  the  coming  of  this 
Early  American.  It  will  be  interesting  to  study  him. 
Place  him  in  the  Robot  barracks ; treat  him  well.  Have 
our  scientists  observe  and  question  him.  It  may  be 
that  even  with  his  limited  intelligence,  he  can  give  us 
a valuable  picture  of  the  world  in  those  primitive  times.” 

Savage  Revenge 

1 LOOKED  all  around  me,  ta  see  who  was  talkin’. 

But  nobody  was  sayin’  a word,  an’  how  could  Jed 
talk,  seein’  he  was  only  a brain,  and  had  no  mouth  nor 
nothing.  Karet  explains  to  me,  however,  that  when 
Jed  thinks,  everyone  can  hear  ’im.  He’s  the  only  one 
can  talk  that  way.  Karet  called  it  tele — tel — ^there,  I 
do  believe  I’ve  forgotten  the  word. 

(“Telepathy,”  suggested  Sid. 

“That’s  it — sure  enough.  Say,  you  fellers  know  a 
lot,  alright,”  Tom  responded  admiringly.  “Well,  any- 
ways, where  was  I?) 

So  Karet  took  me  down  £^in  the  same  way,  and  we 
get  in  the  flying  car,  an’  start  for  the  barracks. 

On  the  way,  he  tells  me  about  Jed.  How  he  is  the 
great  Ruler  of  the  World ; that  2000  years  before,  one 
of  the  Masters  had  become  so  wise  and  knew  so  much 
that  his  brain  didn’t  have  room  enough  to  expand  in 


the  skull,  big  as  it  was,  and  he  told  the  other  Masters 
to  operate  on  him,  take  his  brain  out,  put  it  in  a certain 
kind  o’  jelly.  They  done  that,  and  the  brain  has  been 
growin’  and  growin’ — ^all  they  have  to  do  is  to  feed  it 
once  in  a while.  The  brain  became  so  wise  that  they 
made  it  ruler,  and  it’s  been  livin’  ever  since.  Karet 
said  that  it  looked  as  if  the  Jed  would  live  forever.  An’ 
as  he  says  that,  he  fetches  up  a huge  sigh. 

I look  at  him  surprised,  and  I says  to  myself.  “Ho, 
ho,  so  that’s  the  way  the  land  lies ! Friend  Karet  here’s 
a mite  jealous  or  ambitious.  Bet  he  wouldn’t  mind 
takin’  Jed’s  place — jelly  an’  all.”  And  I thinks  how 
little  human  nature  changes,  even  20,000  years  ahead, 
and  these  queer  people  so  far  advanced. 

All  this  time  we  been  floating  along  over  the  big 
beautiful  park  where  the  Vanishing  Wood  is.  At  last 
the  car  floated  to  the  ground  in  front  of  a long  white 
building  that  stretched  and  stretched  over  acres  o’ 
ground.  I never  seen  such  a tremendous  long  building 
before.  The  place  is  full  of  those  four-handed  Robots, 
goin’  in  and  out,  carryin’  queer  things  that  resemble 
spades  and  shovels,  an’  all  kinds  o’  strange  tools  I 
couldn’t  make  out  the  use  of. 

Karet  stops  one  of  ’em,  and  I recognized  him  as  the 
one  I saw  when  I came  out  of  that  plaguey  wood. 

“Charlie,  have  this  Early  American  share  your  cubicle 
with  you,  until  further  orders.  And  don’t  forget, 
gather  the  others  together  to-night  in  your  room — the 
time  is  getting  ripe  for  action.” 

“Yes,  Master  Karet,  they  are  all  ready — waiting  for 
the  word  to  go.”  Charlie’s  voice  was  harsh  an’  jagged, 
not  like  the  Master’s  soft  smooth  speech  at  all.  It  sure 
was  funny,  though,  to  hear  this  four-eyed,  four-armed, 
big  black  giant  called  Charlie.  It  puts  me  in  mind  of 
old  Charlie  Jones  here,  and  every  time  I think  of  how 
they  would  stack  up  against  each  other,  I has  to  laugh. 

(And  Tom  stopped  in  his  narrative  long  enough  to 
laugh  heartily,  slapping  his  knee  with  merriment.  Then 
he  sobered  rather  suddenly.) 

But  something  happened  next  that  wasn’t  no  laugh- 
ing matter.  It  only  showed  that  underneath  all  their 
highfalutin’  civilization,  they  could  be  just  as  cruel  an’ 
savage  as  any  heathen  Indian  in  the  old  days. 

One  o’  the  Robots — a great  hulking  awkward  brute — 
was  walking  along,  minding  his  own  business.  He 
stumbles  over  something,  an’  falls  against  a Master, 
who  was  walkin’  t’  other  way,  an’  knocks  ’im  down. 
The  little  feller  musta  gotten  an  awful  whack,  but  ’twas 
purely  accidental.  I could  swear  for  that. 

The  Master  picks  himself  up,  and  the  giant  of  a 
Robot  backs  away  from  him,  apologizin’  like  mad,  and 
all  four  hands  waving  like  he  was  pleading  for  mercy. 
If  ever  I saw  anyone  scared  to  death  it  was  that  big 
black  fellow. 

The  little  balloon-head  says  nothing,  but  takes  out  a 
little  tube  as  big  as  a fountain  pen  outa  his  pocket, 
points  it  at  the  beggin’  Robot,  presses  somethin’,  an’ 
a little  spurt  o’  flame  comes  out.  The  giant  jus’  keels 
over  like  he’s  been  shot,  crashes  to  the  ground,  and  lays 
there  quiet. 

The  Master  sorta  brushes  off  his  long  creeper  hands 
unconcerned  like,  puts  the  tube  back  in  his  pocket,  and 
motions  to  two  other  Robots  who  were  standin’  there 


IN  20,000  A.D.! 


317 


wi’  no  expression  on  their  faces.  They  lift  up  the 
dead  body,  an’  cart  it  away. 

All  the  while  I’m  standing  there,  dumfoundered,  then 
I gets  good  and  sore.  For  two  cents  I’da  clouted  that 
cold  blooded  little  squirt  one  oh  the  side  o’  his  balloon 
that ’d  a knocked  him  cold.  But  I hold  myself  in — for 
I remember  where  I am,  an’  God  knows  what  they 
mighta  done  to  me  for  that. 

I could  see  Charlie  goin’  white  wi’  fury  under  that 
black  o’  his,  his  four  great  fists  clench  up  tight,  an’  he 
starts  for  the  murderer. 

But  Karet  shoots  out  a long  hand,  an’  stops  him. 
"Careful,  Charlie.  That  won’t  get  you  anywhere,  and 
will  be  fatal  to  our  plans.  Bide  your  time,  we’ll  soon 
put  a stop  to  that  sort  of  thing.’’ 

Charlie  stops  himself  short — ^it  was  a great  job  for 
him  to  do  it,  too, — ^and  unclenches  his  fists.  “You’re 
right,  Karet,  we  must  wait.  But  he’ll  pay  for  that, 
he  will.” 

A New  Conspirator 

Karet  waves  a tentacle,  gets  into  his  cSr.  “Tonight 
then”  and  off  he  flies. 

"Come  with  me.  Primitive”  says  Charlie  to  me. 
“Who’re  you  callin’  names,”  I answers  indignant. 
I was  gettin’  tired  of  the  outlandish  things  they  was 
sayin’  about  me  all  the  time.  “I’ll  have  you  know  my 
name’s  Tom  Jenkins,  and  that’s  as  good  as  Charlie 
any  day.” 

“All  right,  Tom.  Tom  it  is  from  now  on,”  laughs 
the  giant.  Twas  the  first  time  I see  any  one  laugh  in 
this  place.  The  Masters  couldn’t  laugh  if  they  tried, 
what  wi’  their  mouths  so  small,  no  nose  to  wrinkle  up, 
cold  eyes  that  couldn’t  twinkle  and  smooth  brown  skin 
that  had  no  puckers  in  it.  The  Robots  generally  were 
dumb  sort  o’  creatures,  no  more  expression  on  their 
faces  than  a cow  has.  Only  Charlie  and  some  others 
like  ’im  looked  an’  acted  intelligent  and  human  like. 

I’m  beginning  to  feel  friendly  for  this  fellow — ^he 
seems  a good  sort — and  he’s  the  nearest  to  me  they  have 
around  this  place.  An’  he  seems  to^  take  to  me  also. 

So  in  we  goes,  an’  it’s  a sure  enough  barracks.  It’s 
one  long  room,  looks  like  a mile  long,  and  on  each 
wall  there’s  bonks  built  in  where  the  Robots  sleep.  Just 
room  to  turn  around  in.  No  furniture,  no  hangings  nor 
carpets,  just  bare.  Some  of  the  bunks  is  filled  wi’ 
sleepin’  Robots ; in  others,  they’re  turnin’  out  an’  dress- 
in’!  Simple  enough  too,  justa  pair  o’  breeches  and  yel- 
low sleeveless  shirt.  All  about  the  hall  are  hundreds 
of  ’em,  movin’  about,  goin’  out,  coming  in. 

Charlie  steers  me  to  a far  corner  of  the  place,  that’s 
partitioned  off  into  a number  of  rooms.  We  enter  one, 
and  the  giant  says:  “Here’s  where  you’ll  stay — over 
there’s  your  bed.”  And  he  points  to  a cot  about  15 
feet  long.  The  room  has  two  of  them,  a coupla  queer 
looking  chairs,  so  high  I have  to  hoist  myself  up  to  sit 
on  one,  with  my  legs  adangling.  Nothing  much  else. 

“But* listen,”  I says,  “when  do  we  eat?  Haven’t  had 
a bite  since  early  this  morning.”  Only  then  do  I realize 
how  much  has  happened  to  me  since  then. 

“Hungry!”  the  big  fellow  seemed  surprised.  "Here, 


take  one  of  these.”  And  fie  fishes  outta  a box  a little 
white  pill,  like  calomel,  and  hands  it  to  me. 

“What’s  this?”  I ask,  looking  at  it. 

“Your  meal,”  says  he. 

I take  a good  look  at  him  then  to  see  if  he’s  kiddin’ 
me,  but  no,  his  face  is  as  sober  as  a judge. 

Then  I get  real  angry.  “What  in  ’ell  do  you  think 
I am,  a bloomin’  butterfly?  I want  somethin’  I kin 
wrap  my  jaws  around — a nice  juicy  steak,  say.” 

He  was  puzzled  at  that.  He  didn’t  always  understand 
my  language.  For  that  matter  their ’s  had  me  guessin’ 
too,  often. 

“Steak,”  says  he,  as  though  he  was  hearin’  the  word 
for  the  first  time. 

“Yes,  steak — or  any  kind  o’  meat.” 

You  shoulda  see  his  eyes  all  open  up,  and  he  looks 
at  me  as  if  I was  a cannibal  or  somethin’.  “Meat !”  he 
gasps,  “why,  that’s  vile.  We  don’t  eat  flesh  or  any- 
thing else  but  these  capsules.  They’re  made  up  by  the 
Masters  and  contain  concentrated  food.  One  a day  is 
sufficient.” 

I grumbled  a bit,  but  seeing  there  was  nothing  else, 
I took  it.  I figured  I’d  have  to  eat  a million.  But 
when  I swallowed  it,  all  my  appetite  disappeared,  an’ 
I felt  like  I’d  eaten  a full  meal.  It  was  wonderful. 
But  I can’t  say  as  I cottoned  to  the  idea  much.  I like 
my  victuals,  and  I like  plenty  of  ’em. 

Then  Charlie  closes  the  door  carefully  after  peeking 
out  to  see  if  anyone  is  watching,  an’  he  turns  to  me. 

“Listen,  Tom,  they  say  you  came  here  somehow  from 
a time  20,000  years  ago.  How,  I don’t  know,  but  here 
you  are.  You  look  like  one  of  us,  too, — different  of 
course,  but  not  like  a Master  at  all.  Were  there  any 
Masters  in  your  time?”  he  asked  anxiously. 

I explained  to  him  the  best  I could  about  us,  how 
we  live,  how  everybody  looks  alike,  how  there  are  no 
Masters  nor  slaves  either ; how  we’re  all  equal  and  one 
man’s  no  better  from  another. 

He  listens  fascinated  till  I finish — ^then  he  jumps  up 
in  great  excitement.  “So  there  was  a time  when  the 
Robots  had  everything,  and  there  were  no  Masters,  eh. 
They  never  told  us  that;  they  keep  it  a secret.  Well, 
we’ll  soon  be  free  again,  and  wipe  that  damned  race 
out.” 

He  spun  around  on  me.  “Are  you  with  us  or  against 
us?”  he  asks  hoarsely. 

“I  don’t  understand — against  what?”  I answers. 

“The  Masters,  of  course,”  he  says  impatient. 

“Well,”  I said  slowly,  “they  haven’t  harmed  me  any, 
and  they  seem  pretty  smart,  too,  but  you  fellows  are 
nearer  home  to  me,  so  I’d  rather  trail  along  with  you. 
And  I don’t  like  this  idea  of  slaves — goes  against  the 
grain.  Mind  you,”  I warned  him,  “that  don’t  mean 
I’d  do  anything  against  ’em.” 

He  nodded  his  head.  “I  think  we  can  trust  you. 
We’re  holding  a meeting  here  soon,  do  you  want  to 
stay?” 

I’m  a mite  cautious.  “Providin'  I don’t  have  to  com- 
mit myself  to  do  anything.” 

Charlie  was  satisfied  wi’  that.  “Providing  you  won’t 
give  us  away.”  And  to  that  I agrees.  As  though  Tom 
Jenkins  was  the  man  to  peach  on  anyone. 


318 


WONDER 


STORIES 


CHAPTER  IV 
Seeds  of  Revolution! 

Then  I starts  to  question  him  about  lots  o’  things 
been  puzzlin’  me  ’bout  this  world  o’  theirs.  He 
didn’t  know  much  about  it — said  only  the  Masters 
knew  everything,  and  they  kept  things  to  themselves. 

First  off,  I asked  him  where  were  all  the  women. 
Hadn’t  seen  one  around  at  all.  Women?  He’d  never 
heard  o’  them.  So  thinking  maybe  they  had  another 
word  for  the  sex,  I explains  them  a bit.  Then  he 
brightened  up.  "Oh,  you  mean  the  Mothers!  They 
are  kept  in  the  buildings  over  to  the  east — ^that  great 
structure  surrounded  by  the  high  wall.’’ 

"And  don’t  they  ever  come  out?’’ 

"Oh  no,  that  is  not  allowed.  They  must  remain 
there,  and  fulfill  their  functions.’’ 

I thought  of  my  ma,  and  all  the  gals  I knew,  and  it 
didn’t  sound  right  to  me.  Jus’  try  and  keep  ’em  all 
locked  up  together.  Glory,  but  there’d  be  a revolution 
quick  enough.  Tear  our  hair  out. 

Then  it  all  came  out.  There  really  were  no  women 
here— or  men  either,  for  that  matter.  Thousands  o’ 
years  before,  they’d  stopped  havin’  babies  in  the  regular 
fashion,  and  so,  since  there  wasn’t  no  use  for  men  as 
men  and  women  as  women,  why  they  simply  stopped 
being.  They’re  all  the  same,  what  they  called  neuters. 

Charlie  had  never  seen  the  Mothers,  but  he  under- 
stood they  were  the  breeders  of  the  children.  The 
Masters  controlled  what  the  child  was  gonna  be — 
Master  or  Robot.  Seems  like  they  took  the  eggs  from 
the  Mothers  ’bout  eight  months  before  they  should  be 
born  an’  brought  them  up  in  incubators.  In  Charlie’s 
case  and  some  others  like  him  there  musta  been  a mis- 
take, for  they  gave  ’em  more  brains  and  intelligence 
than  they  shoulda  had.  That’s  why  they  kin  see  they’re 
slaves  an’  they’re  discontented. 

While  he’s  tellin’  me  all  this,  in  walks  half  a dozen 
Robots  in  a bunch.  Charlie  jumps  up  an’  says  hullo  to 
them,  and  they  answers  very  solemn.  He  interduces 
me  around,  an’  tells  ’em  where  I come  from.  You 
shoulda  seen  how  excited  they  get.  We  chin  around 
for  a spell — ^these  birds  are  some  more  of  the  mistakes 
— ^they  were  given  more  brains  than  the  regular  dumb 
workers. 

Then  Karet  walks  in — an’  everybody  get  quiet.  You 
kin  see  he’s  their  leader.  Like  I read  in  history — ^in 
the  old  days  somewhere — a aristercrat  leadin’  the  slaves 
’gainst  his  own  kind. 

He  makes  ’em  a long  speech — ^the  kind  you  hear 
around  election  time.  He  tells  ’em,  even  though  he’s 
a Master,  he  always  felt  sorry  for  the  poor  Robots, 
workin’  day  in  an’  day  out,  so  his  class  can  live  in  idle- 
ness. True,  he  says,  the  Masters  are  far  advanced, 
an’  able  to  do  lots  o’  things  as  a result.  They’ve  learnt 
everything  there  was  to  be  learnt,  they  can  live  on  the 
earth,  in  the  air,  in  the  water,  or  underground;  they 
can  travel  to  the  other  stars ; they  know  how  the  world 
come  about  an’  when  it’s  ending,  they  think  great 
thoughts  an’  things  I couldn’t  even  understand,  but,  he 
says,  what  about  the  Robots  ? An’  everybody  nods  their 
h^ds  an’  says,  yes,  what  about  them. 

They’re  just  animals,  they’re  bred  deliberately  to  slave 


and  work,  they  don’t  have  ta  think  hard  for  that,  so  they 
weren’t  given  any  brains,  or  just  enough  for  their  pur- 
poses. You  here,  and  he  waves  a tentacle  around,  were 
accidents.  The  injections  given  you  in  the  incubator 
musta  had  some  drops  spilled  in  ’em  from  the  Master 
solutions,  an’  you  were  bom  vrith  real  brains.  Do  you 
know,  and  he  shook  that  long  hand  o’  his  impressively 
at  'em, — do  you  know,  t’other  Masters  wanted  to  kill 
you  off  when  they  found  out  the  mistake — ^they  were 
afraid  of  how  the  presence  of  brains  might  make  you 
dissatisfied.  ’Twas  only  me  who  stopped  ’em — ^I  argued 
with  'em  and  told  ’em  you  would  be  an  interesting  ex- 
periment So  they  let  you  live,  but  no  more  of  you  can 
be  bom  now,  they’ve  seen  to  that. 

An’  who’s  responsible  for  all  this,  may  I ask,  he  says, 
talking  like  a politician  on  the  4th  o’  July,  who’s  re- 
sponsible for  havin’  Masters  an’  Robots?  He  waits 
for  an  answer,  but  no  one  says  anything.  So  he  answers 
himself.  Who  but  Jed, — ^Jed  the  immortal,  Jed  the 
all-powerful. 

A thousand  years  ago,  things  were  entirely  different. 
There  was  two  races  on  this  earth  then — one  like  us, 
and  one  like  you.  Your  race  came  up  by  regular  evolu- 
tion from  early  mankind,  like  our  visitor  here,  an’  he 
points  to  me.  T’other  race,  mine,  was  a special  evolu- 
tion from  certain  wise  men,  15,000  years  ago,  who  learnt 
how  to  change  their  children,  and  their  children’s  chil- 
dren, to  what  they  called  supermen.  But  outside  a cer- 
tain difference  in  brains  in  our  favor,  both  races  man- 
aged to  get  along  together.  That  was  because  of  the 
machines. 

In  those  days,  everything  was  done  by  machinery. 
All  the  work  you  do,  and  much  more.  No  one  had  to 
work  at  all.  But  the  machines  were  made  better  an’ 
better,  until  they  become  almost  human.  Their  acts 
were  so  intelligent  they  become  intelligent  themselves. 

One  fine  day,  the  machines  banded  themselves  to- 
gether, an’  started  a revolution  against  the  human  race. 
It  was  terrible.  Before  they  were  licked,  they  almost 
wiped  out  humanity.  ’Twas  Jed  who  saved  us,  and 
defeated  ’em.  How,  I don’t  know. 

Ready  for  Action 

Then  Jed  had  all  the  machines  destroyed,  an’  all 
books  about  ’em,  so  they  could  never  be  built  again. 
So  as  to  have  someone  to  do  the  work,  he  changed  the 
solutions  for  your  race,  and  you  became  what  you  are 
to-day,  and  the  others  became  the  Masters.  Jed  was 
one  of  us  in  the  beginning,  don’t  forget. 

Now  here’s  my  plan.  The  Robots  will  follow  you — 
I’ve  shown  you  already  how  to  control  them.  The 
'Masters  have  their  ray  projectors,  that  can  kill  any- 
thing within  twenty-five  yards.  So  they  could  wipe 
you  out  if  you  attacked  ’em. 

But  I’m  in  charge  of  the  Mothers.  If  we  all  gather 
in  the  city  of  the  Mothers,  an’  seize  ’em,  then  we  can 
tell  the  Masters  and  Jed,  unless  they  listen  to  our  de- 
mands, we’ll  kill  off  all  the  Mothers.  Then  there’ll  be 
no  more  people  bom,  and  the  world  will  die  out.  Rather 
than  that,  the)r’ll  surrender. 

I’ll  take  Jed’s  place  as  Ruler.  We’ll  try  an’  build  the 
machines  again  to  do  the  world’s  work.  An’  we’ll  fix 
the  solutions  for  the  unborn  children  so  everybody  of 


IN  20,000  A.D.l 


319 


both  races  ’ll  have  equal  intelligence,  an’  be  equal  in 
everything. 

The  roomful  starts  to  clap  at  this  like  mad,  an’  it’s 
a funny  sight  to  see  those  double  sets  o’hands  bangin’ 
away,  not  to  mention  the  noise  they  make. 

Karet  raises  one  o’  his  long  hands  for  silence.  “You’ll 
be  givin’  us  away  if  a Master  should  happen  to  be 
around.”  So  they  all  stop,  and  it’s  quiet  again. 

“Tomorrow  noon  is  the  time.  Get  everything  pre- 
pared tonight.  At  noon,  shout  the  control  words  and 
march  the  Robots  to  the  city  of  Mothers  as  fast  as  you 
can.  That’s  all,  now.” 

The  gang  gets  up  and  is  ready  to  go,  when  Karet 
sorta  sees  me  again. 

“Oh,  I’ve  almost  forgot,”  he  says,  “Jed  has  ordered 
our  visitor  to  be  brought  before  the  scientists.  They 
will  remove  his  brain  for  study.  By  examining  its 
folds,  they  will  be  able  to  find  out  all  he  knovas  about  the 
world  of  20,000  years  ago  he  lived  in.  It’s  much  easier 
than  asking  him  about  it.” 

You  kin  imagine  how  I jumped  at  that.  Take  my 
brain  out  o’  my  head — over  my  dead  body, — ^and  I tells 
him  so  in  plain  language. 

Would  you  believe  it — he  has  the  nerve  to  try  an’ 
persuade  me.  It  won’t  hurt,  he  says,  it’s  in  the  interest 
of  science ; they’ll  put  it  back  in  again  after,  ’n  I won’t 
even  know  it’s  been  out. 

But  that  don’t  make  a hit  with  me  at  all.  I tells  ’em 
flat  I won’t  stand  for  it,  even  if  I has  to  kill  someone. 

Karet  shakes  his  head  sorta  puzzled,  just  like  he  can’t 
understand  my  feelin’s. 

“Well,”  he  says  finally,  “they’re  coming  for  you  right 
away.” 

“Lemme  outa  here,”  I says  wildly,  “I  won’t  let  ’em 
get  me.” 

“Where’ll  you  go  to?”  asks  Karet,  and  that  stumps 
me.  They’ll  sure  catch  me.  I’m  wishin’  I never  went 
in  that  darned  wood,  ’n  I was  safe  home  again.  A cold 
sweat  breaks  out,  all  over  me.  Take  my  brain  out,  I 
should  say  not.  I’d  ruther  die  first ! 

Karet  shakes  his  head.  “I’m  sorry,  my  friend,  I 
don’t  think  they’re  going  to  ask  you  what  you’d  rather 
do.  They’ll  just  go  right  ahead  without  askin’  any 
questions.” 

I was  all  of  a shiver.  I didn’t  like  the  idea  at  all. 
How’d  I know  that  they  could  get  my  brain  back?  I 
grabs  hold  o’  my  gun,  I was  goin’  to  fight.  Then,  all 
of  a sudden,  I thinks  of  a way  to  make  Karet,  and 
Charlie,  and  the  gang  help  me. 

“Listen  here,”  I says  to  Karet,  brash-like,  “you  say 
they  kin  read  everything  that’s  in  my  brain.” 

“Of  course,”  he  answers. 

“Every  little  thing  I ever  seed  or  heard,”  I insists. 

“Yes.” 

“Well  then,”  and  I taps  with  my  gun  on  his  chest, 
“how  about  this  little  cofab  I just  been  listenin’  in  on. 
They’ll  read  that,  won’t  they?” 

That  strikes  him  all  of  a heap.  “He’s  right” — ^he 
says  to  Charlie  “we’ve  got  to  hide  him  somehow !” 

Just  then  I hear  a noise  outside,  the  sound  of  people 
cornin’. 

“It’s  the  guard,”  says  Karet,  excited,  “they’re  coming 
for  you.” 


I’m  trapped,  no  mistakin’  that.  “Tom  my  lad,”  says 
I to  myself,  “you’re  through;  you’ll  never  see  your 
poor  old  mother  again,  but  you’re  not  givin’  up  without 
a scrap.”  So  I pulls  the  gun  an’  get  ready  to  shoot  the 
first  one  that  comes  in  the  door. 

I could  see  the  crowd  in  the  room  lookin’  at  the 
pistol  curious.  They’d  never  seen  one  before.  The 
footsteps  gets  louder.  The  guard’s  almost  at  the  door. 
My  finger’s  on  the  trigger,  ready  ta  shoot. 

Just  then  Karet  jumps  up.  “I’ve  got  it.  Charlie,” 
he  orders  rapidly,  “take  him  through  the  trap  over  to 
the  City  of  Mothers.  Hide  him  in  the  top  Tower. 
Quick !” 

Someone  presses  a button,  Charlie  shoves  me  through 
a door  that  slides  open  in  the  wall,  and  closes  it  behind 
us  just  as  the  outside  door  opens.  I hear  “By  order  of 

Jed,  we’ve  come  for  an’  we’re  runnin’  in  a 

tunnel.  Soon  we  come  out  in  the  open.  It’s  night,  an’ 
the  whole  place  is  lit  up  beautiful.  The  buildings  are 
all  glowin’,  the  fountains  are  playin’  wi’  colored  lights, 
the  stars  are  shinin’,  but  Charlie  jerks  me  impatient. 
“Come,  we’ll  have  to  move  fast.  It’s  quite  a ways.” 

“Why  don’t  we  take  one  of  those  air  cars,”  I says. 

“Because  I don’t  know  how  to  handle  them — not 
allowed.” 

Revolt  I 

SO  we  walks  rapidly.  I’m  havin’  a hard  job  to  keep 
up  wi’  the  giant;  ducking  every  time  we  see  a 
Master.  About  an  hour,  and  we  come  to  the  place. 

It’s  a tremendous  big  structure,  lit  up  with  a golden 
light;  there’s  a center  tower  ’bout  ten  stories  high,  an’ 
there’s  a wall  all  around  the  place,  twenty-foot  high. 

There’s  an  entrance  through  the  wall  but  a big  savage- 
looking Robot  stands  on  guard.  We  walks  up  to  him, 
me  shiverin’  like  a leaf.  Charlie  says  some  word  to 
him  I don’t  catch ; he  looks  at  us  dumb,  and  lets  us  in. 

We  hotfoot  it  for  the  tower,  lucky  not  to  meet  any- 
one. Inside  there’s  a sort  of  airshaft  leadin’  all  the 
way  to  the  top.  Charlie  looks  at  it  puzzled. 

“I  forgot  to  ask  Master  Karet  how  to  work  it,”  he 
explains,  “there’s  some  way  of  getting  up  there.” 

I remembered  how  I was  brought  up  to  Jed,  and  I 
looks  around  for  the  platform  and  button.  Sure 
enough  I found  ’em,  and  shows  ’em  to  friend  Charlie. 

“You  go  up  and  hide  on  the  top,”  he  says  relieved. 
“I  daren’t  stay  around ; I’d  be  killed  if  a Master  should 
find  me  in  here.  It’s  forbidden.  Goodbye — see  you 
tomorrow  at  noon  when  things  start  humming.” 

I shook  one  of  his  big  hands,  stood  on  the  platform, 
pressed  the  button,  and  up  I shoot  into  the  air,  up  to 
the  top  where  I land  in  a sort  of  entrance  hall.  Lots 
of  doors  leading  out,  all  closed. 

I take  a chance  an’  open  one  just  a little  bit.  Peeking 
in,  I see  a great  white  room,  with  one  o’  the  most  beau- 
tiful women  I ever  did  see.  Pretty  as  a picture,  golden 
haired,  but  tall — ten  feet  easy.  There  "was  a Master 
in  the  room,  and  he  was  carryin’  a dish  filled  with 
somethin’  to  a tank. 

I closed  the  door  very  quietly,  an’  tried  another  door 
at  t’  other  end.  This  one  was  empty,  so  I eased  into  it, 
and  closed  the  door. 

For  the  first  time,  I felt  dead  tired.  What  a lot  I’d 


320 


WONDER 


STORIES 


been  through  since  the  morning.  It  didn’t  seem  pos- 
sible. Felt  like  months  since  I walked  into  the  Vanish- 
ing Wood.  And  what  was  goin’  to  happen  to  me? 
Would  I ever  get  back?  And  as  I’m  wondering  and 
worrying,  my  eyes  jus’  naturally  closed,  and  I fell  fast 
asleep  on  the  floor. 

When  I wake  up,  the  sunshine  is  streaming  in  through 
a window.  I look  around  a bit  dazed,  and  wonderin’ 
where  I am.  Then  it  dawns  on  me,  as  I hear  a great 
shouting,  but  faint  as  if  coming  from  far  off. 

I jumped  up  and  ran  to  the  window.  Way  below  I 
see  a great  sight.  Thousands  ’n  thousands  of  Robots — 
tiny  enough  they  looked  from  where  I was — were 
marching  towards  me.  They  were  yelling,  and  what  a 
hullabaloo  it  made. 

I seen  Masters  runnin’  up,  an’  off  in  the  distance 
aeryplanes  skoOting  along  towards  ’em.  From  the 
Masters  I see  tiny  flames  adarting,  and  down  fall 
Robots.  Some  make  a rush  for  the  Masters.  Most  drop 
before  they  reach  ’em,  but  every  once  in  so  often  one  or 
two  manage  to  break  through,  and  when  they  do — ^you 
see  little  bits  of  the  poor  Balloon-Head  go  flying  through 
the  air.  Powerful  brutes — ^those  Robots. 

The  main  body  keeps  marching  fast  to  the  gate,  not 
stopping  to  fight.  I prays  for  ’em  to  hurry,  for  I see 
the  airships  cornin’  dlong  fast. 

They’re  at  the  gate  as  the  first  ships  reach.  The  little 
flashes  dart  down  among  the  mass,  and  the  Robots  are 
droppin’  like  flies.  I shut  my  eyes  and  groan.  This  is 
the  end. 

When  I opens  ’em  again,  a great  bunch  of  ’em  have 
scrambled  thro’,  an’  are  rushing  helter  skelter  into  all 
the  buildings.  The  next  minute,  there’s  a racket  out  in 
the  hall,  and  I grabs  my  gun. 

The  door  bursts  open,  and  in  tumbles  Karet,  Charlie, 
an’  a dozen  others.  I almost  shoots  in  my  nervousness. 

“We’ve  got  ’em  now,”  gasps  Karet,  exultant.  “They 
daren’t  use  their  tubes  on  the  City  of  Mothers — ^they 
know  they’d  wipe  out  the  race.” 

They’re  all  excited  and  happy.  I grabs  Charlie  and 
asks  him  what’s  happened.  He  can’t  hardly  stand  still 
in  his  excitement,  but  he  tells  me  that  there  wuz  so  many 
of  the  Robots,  and  the  Masters  wuz  so  surprised,  that 
Karet’s  side  has  got  control  of  the  City  of  Mothers,  as 
this  place  is  called.  I’m  kinda  glad  too. 

Karet  gets  a little  calmed  down.  From  somewheres 
he  brings  out  somethin’  that  looks  like  one  of  them 
French  telephones  I seen  in  the  Bank  in  Mineola. 
There’s  a coil  of  wire  hangin’  onta  it.  He  unrolls  this 
and  throws  it  out  o’  the  window.  Then  he  talks  into  the 
dingus. 

“Give  me  the  general  channel,”  he  says.  Then  he  waits 
a minute,  and  then  talks  again. 

“Master  Karet  speaking.  To  all  Masters  of  Earth. 
I have  captured  the  City  of  Mothers  and  hold  it  secure. 
Unless  I receive  word  from  you  in  ten  minutes  that  you 
will  bow  down  to  me  and  obey  my  commands,  all  the 
Mothers  will  be  killed,  and  all  the  eggs  noW  here  de- 
stroyed. As  you  know,  that  will  mean  the  end  of  the 
race.  If  you  surrender  to  me  I promise  that  I shall  make 
good  terms.  I await  your  reply.” 

Then  he  puts  down  the  telephone  and  begins  giving 
orders  to  Charlie  and  the  other  Robots.  He  trys  to  look 
calm,  but  I can  see  he’s  all  nervous.  The  rest  o’  the 


gang  is  jumping  around  and  jabberin’  away  at  a great 
rate. 

At  1st  there’s  a kind  of  a whistle  from  the  dingus  and 
Karet  grabs  it  quick.  “Karet  listening.” 

The  gang  gets  quiet,  and  waits.  I’m  all  worked  up, 
too,  and  I’m  shivering  all  over.  All  of  a sudden  Karet 
gives  a great  shout. 

“They’ve  given  in!”  he  yells.  “We’ve  won!  Run, 
tell  them  all!” 

With  that  the  gang  rushes  for  the  door,  Karet  after 
them.  Pretty  soon  I hears  a lot  o’  shoutin’  and  yellin’ 
from  the  mob  below.  I know  that  they’ve  heard  the 
news.  So  I goes  below  too,  to  see  what’s  goin’  to  happen 
next. 

(Tom’s  pipe  again  needed  replenishing.  I seized  the 
opportunity  to  shift  to  a chair  whose  seat  was  softer  than 
the  one  I had  been  filling  with  my  bulk.) 

CHAPTER  V 

Tense  Moments 

WELL,  sirs,  after  the  mob  got  done  hollering  over 
this  easy  success,  Karet  got  ’em  all  together  out 
in  the  park  in  front  of  the  City  of  Mothers. 
They  was  thousands  an’  thousands  of  them,  and  they 
was  all  happier  thain  they  had  ever  been  before.  Poor 
fellows,  their  happiness  didn’t  last  long. 

I’m  tryin’  to  figure  out  how  I could  get  out  of  the 
whole  thing.  Somethin’  told  me  things  was  going  too 
easy,  I was  sure  somethin’  terrible  was  going  to  happen. 

Karet  floated  in  his  canoe  up  where  everybody  could 
see  him.  He  had  some  kind  of  contraption  in  his  hand, 
somethin’  like  a telephone  an’  megaphone  combined.  He 
stood  up  and  bgan  to  talk  in  it. 

I was  far  away  from  where  he  was,  way  out  on  the 
edge  of  the  crowd,  but  I could  hear  every  word  he  says, 
just  as  if  he  was  talking  right  to  me. 

He  talked  nice  and  smooth,  and  he  got  right  down 
under  the  skin  o’  them  Robots.  He  told  them  what  a 
wonderful  victory  they  had  won,  and  how  they  had 
showed  themselves  the  aqual  o’  the  Masters.  An’  he 
told  them  that  he  would  keep  his  promises,  and  free 
them  like  he  had  said  he  would,  and  would  give  them 
each  a part  of  all  the  good  things  that  the  Masters  had 
always  had. 

That  went  over  big,  and  the  mob  howled  and  cheered. 
And  some  o’  the  poor  fellows  cried  with  joy.  But  I 
kept  feelin’  that  something  terrible  was  agoin’  to 
happen. 

Then  Karet  went  on.  He  said  that  they  wasn’t  done 
yet,  that  they  had  only  done  half  o’  what  was  necessary. 
And  he  spoke  about  Jed,  and  reminded  them  that  it  was 
the  Jed  that  was  the  real  Master,  and  that  the  Masters 
that  had  always  kept  them  down  was  only  doing  what 
Jed  told  them.  And  he  talked  about  that  cold,  unhuman 
Brain,  and  as  how  it  had  lived  for  hundreds  and  hun- 
dreds o’  years,  and  as  how  it  would  go  on  living  forever 
so  long  as  the  jelly  it  floated  in  was  kept  just  right. 

As  we  listened  to  Tom’s  unschooled  rendition  of  the 
speech  of  the  rebel  leader  I could  picture  the  scene,  and 
realize  how  this  Superhuman  was  swaying  the  recently 
freed  slaves  with  his  eloquence. 

And  then  Karet  told  them  that  so  long  as  Jed  still 
lived,  they  wasn’t  safe.  That  they  must  kill  him— and 


IN  20,000  A.D,t 


321 


then  the  world  would  surely  belong  to  the  Robots. 

The  crowd  kind  o’  fell  silent  when  their  leader  first 
mentioned  Jed,  and  they  was  awful  uneasy.  But  as  he 
went  on — ^and  he  was  a wonderful  talker,  almost  as 
good  as  our  preacher  down  in  Blaymont — they  began  to 
yell  and  shout.  Somebody  yelled  “Down  with  Jed,  kill 
him!”  and  the  whole  crowd  took  up  the  cry,  “Kill! 
kill!  kill  Jed!”  But  I was  thinking  to  myself — “So 
that’s  your  game.  You’re  goin’  to  get  these  poor  fools  to 
kill  your  Master,  and  then  you’re  agoin’  to  take  his 
place,  and  God  pity  these  poor  Robots  then.”  For  I 
didn’t  trust  the  fellow,  nohow.  And  more  and  more  I 
felt  that  somethin’  awful  was  goin’  to  happen,  and  I 
was  trying  to  figure  out  how  I could  get  out  of  the  mess. 
But  somethin’  kept  me  there.  I just  had  to  see  what 
would  happen  next. 

( Sid  muttered  to  me,  “I  couldn’t  have  left  that  scene 
myself,”  and  I nodded  in  agreement.  Tom  was  stuffing 
his  pipe  again,  and  I was  on  tenterhooks  to  hear  what 
the  next  incident  in  the  strange  story  would  be.  Through 
the  window  a faint  lightening  in  the  sky  spoke  of  ap- 
proaching dawn,  but  none  of  us  felt  in  the  least  sleepy. 
The  room  was  hazy  with  smoke,  and  fetid  with  the  odor 
of  burned  tobacco.  Around  our  chairs,  Sid’s  and  mine, 
were  scattered  oceans  of  cigarette  butts. 

At  last  Tom  had  finished  replenishing  his  briar  and 
began  again.) 

While  the  shoutin’  was  at  its  height,  I felt  a touch  on 
my  arm.  I turned,  and  saw  Charlie  standing  there.  In 
one  o’  his  hands  he  had  something  I had  never  seen 
before.  It  looked  like  a book,  not  very  thick  but  very 
long  and  wide.  But  it  wasn’t  paper,  it  looked  like  some 
metal.  Charlie’s  eyes  was  kind  o’  sad,  all  his  excitement 
seemed  to  have  died  down.  I asked  him  what  he  wanted. 

“Tom,”  he  says,  “I’ve  got  a feeling  that  I won’t  live 
long.  This  here’s  a record  o’  the  past  that  I’ve  been 
takin’  care  of.  We  Robots  have  hidden  it  from  the 
Masters  for  many,  many  years.  No  one  knows  how  old 
it  is,  and  no  one  can  tell  what  it  says.  But  we  have  an 
idea  that  it’s  older  than  Jed.  I have  sworn  to  see  that 
it  comes  to  no  harm.  Will  you  take  it,  and  give  it  back 
to  me  if  Jed  is  killed  and  I am  still  alive?  If  not,  you 
keep  it  safe.” 

Well,  sirs,  I didn’t  know  what  to  make  o’  this  queer 
favor  he  was  askin’,  and  I didn’t  much  like  the  idea,  but 
the  poor  fellow  looked  so  sad  and  begged  so  hard  that 
I couldn’t  say  no.  So  I took  the  book  and  shoved  it 
inside  my  shirt  and  buckled  my  belt  around  it.  It  wasn’t 
very  comfortable.  I’ll  tell  the  world. 

(Sid  had  gripped  my  arm  as  Tom  told  of  the  book, 
so  hard  that  I could  hardly  refrain  from  crying  out. 
Now  he  burst  forth.  “Where  is  it,  have  you  got  it?” 

Imperturbable  as  ever,  Tom  replied,  “I’ll  tell  you 
about  that  later.”  With  this  we  had  to  remain  content. 
We  had  learned  that  Jenkins  must  be  permitted  to  tell 
his  story  in  his  own  way.) 

I never  saw  Charlie  again! 

By  this  time  the  crowd  had  started  rushing  toward  the 
other  end  of  the  park,  where  Jed  was.  They  was  still 
yelling,  “Kill!  Kill!”  and  they  was  waving  all  their 
arms  in  the  air.  Have  you  ever  seen  the  ocean  in  a 
storm,  when  the  waves  are  rushing  up  on  the  beach? 
That’s  how  that  mob  looked. 


The  Dread  Words  of  Jed 

I DIDN’T  want  to  go  along.  I was  scared.  But  be- 
fore I could  get  out  I was  mixed  up  in  that  rushin’ 
crowd,  and  I was  carried  along  with  it.  They  ran 
through  that  beautiful  park;  over  the  grass  and  the 
flowers,  and  everything,  tramplin’  it  all  down.  They 
even  threw  down  the  fountains.  I kept  bangin’  back  as 
much  as  I could,  but  I couldn’t  get  out  of  that  crazy 
gang  until  we  was  in  sight  of  the  big  building  where  the 
Jed  was. 

When  I found  myself  free  I began  to  run  back.  I 
had  been  getting  scareder  and  scareder,  and  I had  made 
up  my  mind  I was  goin’  back  to  the  Vanishing  Wood 
to  see  if  maybe  I could  get  back  to  my  own  days.  I was 
so  scared  of  what  I could  feel  was  coming  that  I didn’t 
care  what  happened  to  me  so  long  as  I wasn’t  in  that 
park  any  longer. 

But  I hadn’t  run  more’n  a hundred  yards  when  I 
heard  a terrible  sound.  It  was  like  a groan,  but  like  no 
groan  that  I’d  ever  heard,  ’cause  it  came  from  all  o’ 
them  thousands  and  thousands  o’  black  creatures  that 
was  shouting  and  running  to  kill  Jed. 

I turned  around  to  see  what  had  happened.  I saw 
that  the  whole  o’  that  big  crowd  was  standing  stock  still 
and  looking  ahead  o’  them.  Again  my  wanting  to  know 
what  was  going  on  got  stronger  than  my  being  scared, 
so  I stopped  too.  1 couldn’t  see  what  they  was  looking 
at,  so  I climbed  a tree. 

“I  wish  I hadn’t !” 

(Tom  paused,  and  put  one  huge  hand  over  his  eyes, 
as  if  to  shut  out  some  terrible  sight.  Sid  and  I looked 
at  each  other.  What  horror  could  have  brought  that  look 
of  terror  into  the  eyes  of  this  phlegmatic  farmer? 

A long  pause,  and  then  he  spoke  to  us. 

“I  disremember  if  I told  you  about  the  Jedauds.  Did 
I?” 

I answered  in  the  negative.) 

Well,  at  certain  times  o’  the  year  the  Masters  from 
all  over  the  world  would  come  to  this  place  to  bow  down 
to  Jed.  There  was  too  many  of  them  to  all  get  inside 
the  building  so  they  would  all  stand  in  the  big  open 
space  around  it.  And  the  building  where  Jed  was  would 
open  out,  so  that  there  was  nothing  but  a great  roof 
floating  up  in  the  air,  and  the  big  white  ball  floating 
under  it. 

That’s  what  the  crowd  was  lookin’  at.  The  sides  of 
the  building  were  gone,  an’  there  was  that  rosy  roof 
ahangin’  ’way  up  in  the  air,  and  under  it  the  big  white 
ball  in  which  Jed  lived! 

But,  gents,  that  ball  wasn’t  still.  No.  Even  from  far 
away  where  I was,  I could  see  that  it  was  spinnin’  round 
and  round.  When  I first  see  it,  it’s  turning  very  slow 
like,  but  as  I watches,  it  goes  faster  and  faster  till  it 
seems  like  it’s  still  again,  it’s  going  so  fast. 

Meanwhile  the  sky’s  gettin’  darker  and  darker.  I 
don’t  know  what  time  o’  day  it  was,  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  the  darkness  was  unnatural.  It’s  getting  cold  too, 
and  a wind  like  ice  blows  towards  me. 

As  it  gets  dark,  that  spinnin’  ball  begins  to  shine.  It’s 
white  at  first,  and  then  different  colors  begin  to  come 
and  go  over  it.  Pretty  colors.  Like  you  see  when  you 
spill  oil  on  the  water  in  a swamp  to  kill  skeeters.  Only 


322  K Q N D E R 

these  colors  keep  coming  and  going  all  over.  Xhere’s 
a word  for  that  kind  of  colors. 

(“Iridescence,”  Sid  supplied.) 

That’s  it!  Then  all  of  a sudden  I hears  that  sweet 
voice  of  Jed’s  atalkin’  in  my  brain.  Kinda  faint,  I’m  a 
long  ways  off.  But  those  words  is  burned  into  my  brain. 
I’ll  never  forget  them  as  long  as  I live. 

(That  look  of  horror  had  been  deepening  in  Tom’s 
eyes.  His  pipe  had  gone  out,  and  he  had  visibly  paled. 
As  he  talked  he  had  been  staring  at  the  flame  in  the  oil 
lamp  on  the  table,  staring  fixedly,  unblinkingly.  Now, 
as  he  spoke  of  the  Jed,  expression  seemed  to  drain 
from  his  face,  his  eyes  became  glassy.  He  seemed  to 
speak  by  rote,  his  unschooled  locutions  vanished.  We 
seemed  to  hear  the  very  voice  of  Jed.) 

There  was  no  emotion  in  that  voice,  yet  somehow  I 
felt  an  unutterable  disdain,  an  abysmal  contempt  in  its 
tones.  I felt  small,  very  small,  and  insignificant. 

“So  you  came  to  kill  Jed!  Karet,  you  and  your 
dupes ! And  you  think  that  you  can  succeed.  Know  you 
not  that  Jed  is  immortal?  Aye,  immortal  not  only 
against  the  natural  processes  that  age  and  decay  your 
paltry  carcasses,  but  against  violence  and  accident ! 

“You,  traitorous  Karet,  would  kill  Jed  and  take  his 
place.  Before  you  can  do  that,  before  you  can  hope  to 
match  your  paltry  wits  against  my  wisdom,  you  must 
live  and  learn,  as  I have,  for  ten  thousand  years. 

“Think  you  that  you,  in  your  paltry  span  of  three 
hundred  years,  with  your  circumscribed  brain,  body 
hampered,  could  hope  to  know  a thousandth  of  what  I 
know  ? You  would  wrest  the  world  from  me ! For  the 
first  time  since  the  invaders  from  Jupiter  matched  their 
puny  might  against  mine,  I am  amused.  Why,  the 
Machines  in  their  revolt  were  more  potent  by  far  than 
you ! 

“You  and  the  other  Masters,  as  you  loved  to  style 
yourselves,  dreamed  that  I lived  at  your  sufferance,  that 
I ruled  by  your  good  will.  What  presumptuous  ignor- 
ance. 

“I  need  not  you,  nor  any  other  being  on  this  earth. 
Were  it  not  that  I cared  not  to  exert  myself,  I should 
have  long  ruled  alone,  to  carry  out  the  destiny  of  this 
fair  planet.  While  you  were  faithful  servants  of  my 
will  I tolerated  you.  Now,  that  you  delude  yourself,  I 
shall  make  an  e^  of  you,  and  of  all  your  dupes.  Pre- 
pare to  meet  your  doom !” 

(With  this  last  dread  sentence  the  voice  fell  silent. 
Tom’s  eyes  closed,  he  seemed  asleep.  Sid  shook  him,  he 
woke  with  a start. 

“Where  was  I,  what  happened?” 

“You  had  just  told  us  what  Jed  said,  begin  apiin 
where  he  stopped,”  I said,  soothingly.) 

Through  18,000  Years 

AS  Jed  sfopped  talking  in  my  head,  (Tom  went  onj 
> I saw  a shiver  run  over  that  crowd  in  front  of  me. 
They  seemed  to  be  tryin’  to  get  away,  but  they  couldn’t 
move.  I could  see  Karet,  and  he  was  pushing  the  but- 
tons on  the  box  in  his  flyin’  machine,  but  it  didn’t  do 
no  good.  I hope  never  to  see  a look  on  any  man  like 
what  was  on  his  face  then. 

All  this  time  the  pretty  colors  had  been  runnin’  and 
flowin’  over  the  ball.  But  now  they  all  flowed  tc^ether, 
fend  they  all  became  violet.  Not  a pretty  violet  like  the 


STORIES 

flowers,  bujt  a deep  dark  color.  And  the  color  got  darker 
and  darker  till  all  of  a sudden  there  wasn’t  any  light 
at  all.  I couldn’t  see  the  ball,  but  I knem  it  was  still 
there. 

For  a minute  It  was  pitch  dark,  and  I couldn’t  see 
nothing  at  all.  Then  sudden  like,  I could  see  the  crowd, 
and  Karet  floatin’  there  above  them.  There  wasn’t  no 
light  shining  on  them,  they  was  shining  themselves! 
They  looked  like  ghosts,  red  ghosts,  stretching  away 
there,  close  together,  as  far  as  I could  see.  The  light 
that  was  shining  from  them  was  a red  light,  an  awful 
deep  red. 

They  were  shining  brighter  and  brighter — now  they 
all  looks  like  red-hot  iron  just  out  of  the  forge.  And 
they  are  hot,  too,  I can  feel  that  heat  coming  to  me  like 
from  a blazin’  furnace.  The  trees  around  begin  to 
shrivel  in  the  heat,  and  the  grass. 

I’m  sittin’  there  in  that  tree,  spell-bound,  with  my 
mouth  hangin’  open  like  any  gapin’  fool.  But  when 
they  begins  to  melt  I’ve  had  enough.  I lets  out  a shriek 
and  falls  out  of  my  tree.  I don’t  know  why  I didn’t 
get  hurt  falling,  I don’t  even  remember  hitting  the 
ground.  All  I could  think  of  was  the  Vanishing  Wood. 
I wanted  to  get  away,  to  get  out  of  that  terrible  place. 

I run  till  my  lungs  are  bursting,  and  at  fast  I see  the 
blessed  wood  ahead  of  me.  I don’t  stop  to  look  if  the 
trees  are  twisted  as  before,  and  I don’t  look  behind  me, 
but  just  plunges  right  in.  There’s  the  path,  and  as  I 
step  on  it  I feel  the  same  thing  pulling  me.  I get  into 
that  Nothing  again,  all  twisted  up  like  I was  at  firsts 
and  there  I am,  lying  on  the  ground,  way  back  there  in 
the  Vanishing  Wood. 

I lay  there  for  a long  time,  trembling.  I was  awful 
scared.  I was  scared  for  fear  that  I hadn’t  gotten  out 
of  the  time  I had  run  away  from,  and  I’m  scared  for 
fear  I landed  in  some  other  terrible  time. 

At  last  I pull  myself  together  and  walk  slowly  down 
the  path.  When  I get  to  the  edge,  I hide  behind  a tree 
and  stick  my  head  out,  fearful  o’  what  I should  see. 

Thank  God ! There’s  old  man  Brown’s  meadow,  an’ 
the  cows,  an’  the  little  brook.  I’m  saved  from  those 
terrible  things — ^I’m  home  again! 

4:  >l<  4c  * >|c 

Tom’s  tired  voice  ceased,  his  head  drooped  wearily. 
We  too  slumped  back  in  our  chairs,  terribly  tired  by  the 
tense  strain  of  the  long  listening.  Amid  the  ashes  and 
the  half-burned  cigarettes  were  strewn  the  white  sheets 
on  which  we  had  scribbled  the  story  of  the  strangest 
adventure  man  has  ever  had. 

The  man  to  whom  all  this  had  occurred  straightened. 
A challenge  was  in  his  eyes. 

“Do  you  believe  me?”  he  demanded. 

In  one  voice  we  assured  him  we  did,  and  we  were 
not  lying. 

“’Cause  if  you  don’t,”  he  went  on,  still  unconvinced, 
“there’s  the  Vanishing  Wood  out  there,  and  you  can  go 
and  see  for  yourselves!”  He  pointed  to  the  window, 
bright  now  with  the  new  day. 

Sid  and  I looked  at  each  other.  Then  we  shook  our 
heads. 

“No,  Tom,  we’ll  take  your  word.” 

We  gathered  our  papers,  donned  our  hats  and/  coats, 
fumed  to  thank  Tom  again  and  say  goodbye.  Suddenly 
Sid  started. 


IN  20,000  A.D.! 


323 


“My  God,  I almost  forgot!  The  book,  Tom,  what 
happened  to  the  book  ?’’ 

“Why,  I’ve  got  it  right  here.  It  was  still  inside  my 
shirt  when  I got  back.”  He  went  to  a cupboard,  opened 
it,  and  came  back  carrying  something. 

Eagerly  we  seized  the  volume.  The  size  and  shape  of 
the  old  school  geographies,  it  was  made  of  some  light 
metal.  The  leaves  were  thin,  almost  as  thin  as  gold  leaf. 
On  them  we  could  make  out  many  symbols,  closely 
written. 

“What  are  you  going  to  do  with  this,  Tom?” 

“Take  it.  I don’t  want  it  around.  I want  nothing 
that’ll  remind  me  of  that  terrible  trip.” 

All  our  protests;  our  offers  to  pay  well  for  the 


volume,  were  useless.  Either  we’d  take  it  as  a gift  or 
he  would  destroy  it. 

* * * * ♦ 

We  have  been  studying  that  book.  It  appears  to  be 
a compilation  of  epochal  events  in  the  history  of  the 
world,  for  some  thousands  of  years  in  what  is  to  us,  the 
future.  Each  event  is  narrated  by  a participant  or  eye- 
witness. As  we  translate,  we  grow  more  elated  at  our 
find. 

But  a great  fever  seizes  us.  We"  want  to  see  that 
strange  world  of  the  future.  We  talk  about  it,  Sid  and 
I,  and  speculate  on  what  we  shall  find.  And  perhaps 
some  day  we  shall  quietly  step  into  the  Vanishing  Wood 
and  bridge  the  gap  that  separates  us  from  the  year 
20,000  A.  D.l 


The  End. 


In  the  October  Issue'. 

“THE  WAR  LORD  OF  VENUS” 

By  Frank  J.  Bridge 

A continuation  of  this  marvelous  struggle  for  control  of  a world  removed  thirty 
million  miles  and  fifty  million  years. 

“THE  EMPIRE  IN  THE  SKY” 

By  Ralph  Wilkins 

A thrilling  "air  wonder”  adventure  into  a nation  existing  in  the  great  blue  skies — 
with  mystery,  intrigue  and  a startling  climax. 

“THE  LIZARD-MEN  OF  BUH-LO” 

By  Francis  Flagg 

He  stepped  through  a door  in  space  and  disappeared.  Years  passed  before  word 
came.  Don’t  mind  this  latest  dimension-traveling  story  by  our  well-known  author ! 

AND  MANY  OTHERS. 


SCIENCE  QUESTIONNAIRE 


1.  What  is  the  velocity  of  the  cathode  stream? 
How  is  it  produced?  (Page  337) 

2.  What  is  the  penetrating  power  of  cosmic 
rays?  (Page  337) 

3.  How  is  sound  sent  over  light  beams?  (Page 
341) 

4.  What  is  the  most  necessary  feature  in  the 
radio  control  of  bombing  planes  ? (Page  357) 

5.  What  is  it  that  turns  the  train  of  a comet 
away  from  the  sun?  (Page  295) 


6.  What  does  the  “conjunction  of  Venus  with 
the  earth”  mean?  (Page  299) 

7.  What  is  the  minimum  distance  of  Venus 
from  the  earth?  (Page  299) 

8.  What  is  the  diameter ; distance  from  the  sun ; 
period  of  revolution  and  period  of  rotation 
of  Venus?  (Page  300) 

9.  How  many  moons  has  Mars?  (Page  346) 

10.  What  is  the  great  factor  in  determining  our 

mental  and  physical  growth?  (Page  326) 


THE  TCAGEET  CE 


By  CABTAIN 


LL  WEBSTER  recovered  consciousness 
with  a groan.  His  eyelids  lifted  for  an 
instant  but  dropped  quickly  at  the  glare  of 
the  tropical  sun  overhead.  Slowly  and  with 
infinite  effort  he  rolled  himself  over  and 
again  opened  his  eyes.  He  lay  on  a narrow  strip  of 
beach  between  the  yet  turbulent  sea  and  a riot  of  wind- 
torn  jungle.  He  stared  stupidly  at  the  scene  and  gradu- 
ally his  mind  awoke  to  a remembrance  of  the  events  of 
the  night  before. 

“Shipwrecked!”  he  muttered.  He  struggled  to  a 
sitting  position  and  stared  around.  “Yes,  sir,”  he  went 
on,  “shipwrecked  as  sure  as  shooting.  I wonder  whether 
any  of  the  rest  got  ashore.” 

He  attempted  to  rise  but  sank  back  with  a groan.  He 
drew  up  first  one  leg  and  then  the  other  and  carefully 
felt  them  over.  Satisfied,  he  went  over  his  arms  and 
his  ribs. 

“No  bones  broken,”  he  said  when  he  had  finished  his 
inspection,  “but  I’m  pounded  to  a jelly.  I wonder 
where  I am  anyway.” 


He  looked  out  at  the  sea  but  found  no  answer  there 
and  turned  his  gaze  inland.  A moving  object  a few 
feet  from  him  attracted  his  attention  and  he  stared  at 
it  in  horrified  fascination.  The  crawling  object  moved 
nearer,  crouching  as  though  for  a spring  and  with  a 
yell  of  horror  he  bounded  to  his  feet,  his  sore  muscles 
completely  forgotten. 

As  he  scrambled  up  the  object  launched  itself  through 
the  air  for  a distance  of  ten  feet  and  landed  on  the  spot 
where  Webster’s  head  had  been  resting.  Webster 
looked  around  for  a weapon  and  saw  a piece  of  drift- 
wood a dozen  feet  away.  He  reached  for  it  just  in 


324 


time  for  a hairy  body  whizzed  through  the  air.  It  was 
a matter  of  seconds  for  Webster  to  seize  the  driftwood 
and  take  the  offensive  against  his  assailant.  He  struck 
viciously  at  the  thing  but  it  bounded  back  and  as  Web- 
ster approached  it  sprang  again  at  his  face.  Webster 
sidestepped  in  the  nick  of  time  and  hurled  his  club  as 
the  thing  landed.  His  aim  was  true  and  a moment 
later  he  regained  his  club  and  rained  blows  on  his  late 
enemy. 

“That  must  be  the  grand-daddy  of  all  the  spiders  in 
the  world,”  mused  Webster  as  he  gazed  at  the  sand. 
Before  him  lay  the  crushed  body  of  an  arthropod 
resembling  a spider  in  appearance  but  bigger  than  any 
spider  that  Webster  had  heard  of.  The  body  was  as 
large  as  a dinner  plate  and  the  eight  legs  spanned  a 
circle  four  feet  in  diameter.  Gingerly  he  lifted  the 
dead  monster  by  one  leg  and  whistled  in  amazement 
as  he  felt  its  weight. 

“It’s  too  bad  old  Doc  Torby  isn’t  here,”  he  said  with 
a chuckle,  “He’d  get  right  aown  on  his  knees  and 
worship  a bug  of  that  size,  I hope  Doc  came  through 


all  right.  If  I thought  I’d  run  into  him,  I’d  lug  this 
fellow  along  with  me,  but  I guess  I won’t.  I wonder 
what  is  the  correct  thing  to  do  under  these  circum- 
stances, I’m  thirsty  as  the  devil.  It  seems  to  me  that 
all  the  shipwrecked  people  I ever  read  about  in  books 
always  found  plenty  of  cocoanuts  which  served  them 
for  food  and  drink  but  I must  have  picked  the  wrong 
island  to  get  wrecked  on.” 

He  gazed  quizzically  at  the  jungle  but  it  was  of  low 
dense  growth  which  offered  little  evidence  of  either 
food  or  drink. 

“Where  there’s  so  much  vegetation  there  must  be 
surplus  water,”  he  mused.  “I  expect  that  the  best  thing 
to  do  is  to  follow  the  shore  line.  The  going  looks  easy 
and  the  water  must  empty  into  the  ocean  somewhere.” 

He  glanced  both  ways  along  the  beach  and  with  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders  he  started  north  along  the  beach. 
He  went  a few  steps  and  then  retraced  his  path  and 
picked  up  the  bit  of  driftwood  which  had  served  him 
so  well  in  his  battle  with  the  spider  and  with  it  in  his 
hand  he  again  strode  forward. 

For  half  a mile  he  followed  the  irregular  beach  with- 
out finding  water  or  a break  in  the  solid  wall  of  jungle 
on  his  right.  Several  times  he  started  to  throw  away 
the  driftwood  but  each  time  he  thought  better  of  it  and 


326 


WONDER  STORIES 


kept  it  in  his  hand.  The  stiffness  left  his  muscles  and 
his  gait  soon  regained  the  springiness  and  sureness 
which  had  won  for  him  the  nickname  “Catfoot”  Web- 
ster in  many  a hard  fought  football  game. 

Attired  only  in  a torn  white  shirt  and  a pair  of  denim 
trousers  crusted  with  salt  water,  there  was  yet  about 
him  an  indefinable  air  of  distinction  and  anyone  glanc- 
ing even  casually  at  the  clear  blue  eyes  under  his  high 
forehead  surmounted  by  crisp  brown  curls  would  have 
seen  intelligence  depicted  there.  A further  glance  at 
his  straight  nose  with  its  finely  cut  sensitive  nostrils 
would  have  confirmed  the  impression  while  his  firm 
chin,  jutting  out  a trifle  too  prominently  for  classical 
beauty,  more  than  hinted  at  the  fighting  spirit  that  had 
put  Stanford’s  best  half-back  on  more  than  half  of  the 
All-American  elevens.  Six  feet  two  inches  of  frame 
carried  a hundred  and  ninety  pounds  of  bone  and 
muscle,  for  Bill  Webster  revelled  in  physical  fitness  and 
had  not  allowed  himself  to  get  out  of  training  during  the 
year  since  his  graduation. 


her  shoulder  and  leaving  a deep  scratch  which  rapidly 
show'ed  crimson.  With  a shout,  Webster  rushed  to 
her  rescue. 

The  girl  heard  his  shout  and  turned  her  head  toward 
him.  Her  struggles  ceased  and  she  called  out  but  Web- 
ster did  not  understand  her  and  he  launched  himself 
at  the  builder  of  the  web.  The  spider  retreated  at  his 
onslaught  and  he  grasped  the  web  to  tear  it  down.  The 
web  was  sticky  and  tenuous  and  as  he  broke  the  first 
strand  it  whipped  around  his  wrist  while  another  caught 
his  trouser  leg.  He  pulled  back  but  the  web  gave  and 
another  strand  came  in  contact  with  his  shirt.  He 
fought  desperately  for  a moment  before  the  voice  of 
the  girl  penetrated  to  his  consciousness. 

“Don’t  struggle!’’  she  cried.  “If  you  do,  you’ll  never 
get  out.  Keep  still!’’ 

He  ceased  his  struggles  at  the  words  and  looked  at 
her.  She  had  a beautiful  oval  face;  a slim  graceful 
body  with  a head  topped  by  a mass  of  sleek  brown  hair. 

She  was  held  with  her 


He  rounded  a point 
and  gave  an  exclamation 
of  joy  at  the  sight  of  a 
small  stream  trickling 
down  to  the  sea.  He 
hastened  his  steps  toward 
it  when  a scream  from 
the  jungle  brought  him 
to  a sudden  halt. 

“What  the  dickens?’’ 
he  exclaimed  and  listened 
intently. 

A Human  Victim 

Again  came  the 
, scream,  appallingly 
human  and  from  nearby 
in  the  jungle.  He  hesi- 
tated for  a moment  but 
the  cry  once  more  split 
the  silence  and  this  time 
he  could  distinguish 
words. 


CAPTAIN  MEEK  has  the  rare  ability  of  not 
only  giving  us  stories  of  daring  imaginative 
content  but  also,  at  the  same  time  keeping  both 
feet  on  the  ground  so  that  the  stories  never  seem 
anything  but  real.  The  present  story  embodies 
all  of  his  excellent  qualities. 

The  discovery  of  the' conditions  in  our  body 
that  regulate  our  mental  and  physical  growth 
has  come  only  in  the  past  few  years.  The  ques- 
tion of  why  certain  people  should  be  short  and 
others  tall,  some  slender  and  others  fat,  brilliant 
or  stupid  has  puzzled  the  world  from  time  im- 
memorial. All  sorts  of  fantastic  explanations 
were  used  when  man’s  mind  was  enslaved  by 
superstition;  and  he  accepted  them.  Now  he  is 
learning  that  the  explanations  are  more  or  less 
simple:  that  mental  and  physical  growth  are  to 
a large  extent  the  result  of  the  activity  of  our 
glands.  How  this  idea  can  be  used  to  construct 
a thrilling  story  of  adventure,  you  will  find  in 
these  pages.  " 


“Daddy,  help!’’  he  heard.  “Help  me,  quick!”  any  sort?” 

He  hesitated  no  longer  but  grasped  his  club  more  “I  have  a club.” 


bare  and  bleeding  skin 
exposed  and  he  found 
time  to  marvel  at  the 
whiteness  of  it  and  at 
the  rounded  contours  of 
her  shoulders. 

“I’m  standing  quietly,” 
he  said  unsteadily.  “What 
shall  I do  next?  You 
seem  to  know  more  about 
this  kind  of  a mess  than 
I do.” 

“How  many  strands 
are  holding  you?”  she 
asked,  looking  at  him 
dazedly. 

“Four,”  he  replied 
after  an  inspection,  “one 
on  my  left  wrist  and  the 
others  on  my  body.” 

“Don’t  use  your  free 
hand  to  break  a strand. 
Have  you  a weapon  of 


firmly  and  plunged  into  the  tangled  mass  of  vegetation.  “See  if  you  can’t  free  your  left  hand  with  it.  Work 


There  was  silence  for  a moment  as  he  plowed  his  way  carefully ; if  you  strike  hard  you’ll  just  tangle  yourself 
forward  and  then  came  scream  after  scream  and  then  up  worse.” 


a low  moaning.  With  a muttered  curse  at  the  creepers 
which  held  him  back,  he  forged  ahead. 

Twenty  yards  of  effort  brought  him  to  an  open  glade 
and  he  paused  in  amazement  at  what  he  saw.  Stretched 
between  two  huge  trees  was  what  looked  like  a spider 
web  made  of  clothesline  and  caught  in  its  meshes  and 


Cautiously  he  raised  the  driftwood  and  entangled  it 
in  the  strand  holding  his  left  hand.  With  a slow  steady 
heave  he  broke  the  strand  but  the  club  was  hopelessly 
entangled  in  the  web. 

“Both  hands  are  free  but  I have  lost  my  club,”  he 
said.  “What  next  ?” 


trying  vainly  to  free  herself  was  a girl.  Her  struggles 
had  broken  some  of  the  strands  of  the  net  but  the 
broken  ends  had  whipped  about  her  and  held  her  more 
firmly.  Down  the  net  which  sagged  under  its  weight 
came  a spider.  Webster  rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked 
again  for  the  body  of  the  arachnida  measured  fully  two 
feet  across  and  the  enormous  legs  spanned  a spread  of 
fifteen  feet.  The  girl  screamed  again  as  one  of  the 
spider’s  legs  raked  her  back,  tearing  the  clothing  from 


“Move  slowly  backwards  until  you  have  strained  the 
strands  holding  you  almost  to  the  breaking  point  and 
then  throw  yourself  back  with  all  your  weight.  Break 
any  tag  ends  holding  you  later.” 

Slowly  he  moved  back.  The  strands  of  the  giant 
web  stretched  and  the  spider  ran  rapidly  down  the  web 
toward  him.  Webster  threw  himself  backward  with 
all  his  force  and  the  web  parted.  He  rolled  on  the 
ground  with  two  strands  wrapped  about  his  legs.  He 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  SPIDER  ISLAND 


827 


grasped  the  grass  with  both  hands  and  pulled  himself 
along  the  ground.  First  one  and  then  the  other  of  the 
strands  parted  and  he  stood  up  free.  The  spider  had 
run  down  the  web  until  it  had  almost  reached  him  and 
now  sat  at  the  edge  of  the  broken  web,  glaring  at  him. 

“I’m  free,”  called  Webster.  “What  next?” 

“Get  my  flash  tube,”  she  said. 

“Your  what?” 

“My  flash  tube.  It’s  a shiny  nickeled  tube  and  it 
ought  to  be  somewhere  close  to  my  feet.  I dropped  it 
when  I was  first  caught.” 

Webster  searched  in  the  tall  growth  for  the  object 
she  had  described.  From  the  corner  of  his  eye  he  could 
see  the  spider  approaching  the  girl  and  he  straightened 
up  and  shook  his  fist  at  it.  The  spider  stopped  at  the 
gesture  and  regarded  him  balefully. 

“Can’t  you  find  it  ?”  asked  the  girl  in  a broken  voice. 

“Here  it  is,”  he  cried  as  he  pounced  on  it.  “How  do 
I use  it  ?” 

“Just  like  a flashlight.  Point  it  at  the  spider  and  press 
the  button.” 

Webster  followed  her  instructions.  As  he  pressed 
the  button  he  felt  a slight  shock  and  a 
pale  yellow  ray,  visible  even  in  the 
daylight,  shot  through  the  air.  It 
struck  the  spider  who  retreated  rap- 
idly up  the  web. 

“Now  put  the  end  of  the  tube 
within  an  inch  of  one  of  the  strands 
holding  me  and  keep  the  ray  on  it 
until  it  parts.  Don’t  get  tangled  up 
yourself !” 

He  edged  forward  until  he  was  a 
few  inches  from  the  web.  Again  the 
yellow  ray  shot  out  from  the  tube 
and  in  a few  seconds  one  of  the 
strands  which  held  the  girl  captive 
parted.  Strand  after  strand  gave  be- 
fore the  strange  force  in  the  little 
tube.  The  spider,  enraged  at  the 
sight  of  its  prey  escaping,  ran  down 
the  web  again  but  Webster  turned  the  ray  on  it  and  it 
retreated  and  disappeared  in  the  foliage.  It  was  a matter 
of  moments  until  the  last  strand  was  severed  and  the 
girl  moved  cautiously  out  of  the  web. 

She  threw  the  tattered  ends  of  her  garment  back  over 
her  shoulder  and  held  them  in  place  while  she  smiled 
rather  wanly  at  her  rescuer. 

“Thanks,”  she  said  simply,  "you  came  just  in  time.  I 
think  I would  have  been  gone  if  you  had  been  two 
minutes  later.” 

“Thank  you!”  he  rejoined.  “If  you  hadn’t  kept  your 
head  and  told  me  just  what  to  do  we’d  both  be  hung  up 
there  like  flies.” 

She  shuddered  at  his  words  and  swayed  toward  him. 

“I’m  sorry,”  she  murmured  as  he  caught  her,  “feut  I’m 
afraid — I’m  going — ^to  faint.” 

CHAPTER  II 
The  Maker  of  Spiders 

AS  she  said  the  last  words  she  slumped  forward  3 
dead  weight  in  his  arms.  Webster  glanced  around 
' hastily  and  then  lifted  her  like  a baby  and  plunged 


into  the  jungle.  At  the  edge  of  the  stream  he  laid  her 
down  and  sprinkled  her  with  water  from  his  cupped 
hands.  In  a moment  she  opened  eyes  that  reminded 
Webster  of  violets  and  smiled. 

“Excuse  me  for  being  so  silly,”  she  said  as  she  rose  to 
her  feet,  “but  my  nerves  are  a little  jumpy.  Who  are 
you  and  where  did  you  come  from  so  opportunely?  That 
is,”  she  added  hastily,  “if  it’s  any  of  my  business.” 

“I’m  Bill  Webster  of  San  Francisco,”  he  replied.  “I 
came  ofiF  my  father’s  yacht,  the  Helen  Webster,  when  it 
broke  up  on  a reef  in  the  storm  last  night.  I went  into 
the  water  and  tried  to  swim.  I was  all  right  for  a while 
but  no  one  could  swim  long  in  such  a sea  and  I went 
out.  I woke  up  on  the  beach  about  a mile  frcwn  here 
somewhat  the  worse  for  wear.” 

“Did  any  of  the  rest ” She  paused  suddenly. 

“I’m  afraid  not.  We  weren’t  able  to  launch  any  boats 
and  the  sea  was  bad.” 

“I’m  so  sorry,”  she  said,  her  voice  vibrant  with  sym- 
pathy. “Perhaps  they  made  their  way  to  land  elsewhere. 
Let’s  hope  so  at  any  rate.” 

“I  certainly  do.  May  I ask  you  the  same  questions 
that  you  asked  me?  Who  are  you  and 
where  do  you  come  from?  That  is, 
if  it’s  any  of  my  business.” 

She  frowned  slightly. 

“I  only  meant  that  in  kindness,” 
she  said  in  a tone  of  reproof.  “Some- 
times people  in  the  South  Seas  don’t 
care  to  tell  who  they  are  and  your 
clothing  didn’t  exactly  suggest  a pri- 
vate yacht.  I’m  Myra  Collins  and  I 
live  on  this  island  with  my  father. 
But  you  must  be  tired  and  hungry 
and  everything  else.  Forgive  my 
thoughtlessness.  I’ll  take  you  home 
and  feed  you  and  let  Daddy  thank 
you.” 

She  started  back  along  the  path 
which  Webster  had  broken  through 
the  jungle  and  he  followed  in  her 
footsteps.  They  crossed  the  glade  and  followed  a well 
defined  path  through  the  thick  growth  which  brought 
them  in  a short  distance  to  a large  natural  clearing  in 
the  center  of  which  stood  a large  white  house. 

“Watch  your  step,”  she  cautioned  as  they  approached 
the  clearing.  “You’ll  find  webs  everywhere.” 

Webster  stared  in  amazement.  Every  tree  in  the 
clearing  and  around  its  edge  was  festooned  with  giant 
webs.  In  many  of  there  were  spiders,  varying  in  size 
from  small  ones  only  an  inch  or  two  across  to  giants 
fully  eighteen  inches  in  diameter.  None  of  them 
approached  in  size  the  monster  they  had  encountered 
in  the  jungle. 

“Can’t  you  clear  them  from  the  vicinity  of  the  house?” 
he  asked. 

“We  don’t  want  to.  Those  webs  are  the  reason  why 
we  are  living  here.  My  father  is  experimenting  with 
them.” 

“What  is  he  doing?” 

“He  plans  to  make  them  into  clothing  as  a substitute 
for  silk,”  she  replied.  “This  dress  I have  on  is  made  of 
spider  webs.  I wove  the  cloth  myself  on  a hand  loom.” 


CAPTAin  s.  P. 


WONDER  STORIES 


328 

Webster  stared  at  the  garment.  He  had  taken  it  for 
silk  of  a high  luster  but  when  she  spoke,  he  realized 
that  it  was  made  of  some  unfamiliar  substance.  Before 
he  had  time  to  comment  on  her  statement  a tall  stooped 
figure  appeared  on  the  porch  of  the  house  and  stared 
toward  them. 

“Where  have  you  been,  Myra?”  the  figure  called. 
“And  who  is  that  with  you?” 

The  girl  ran  ahead  and  threw  her  arms  about  the 
man  who  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

“Daddy,”  she  said,  “this  is  Mr.  Webster  of  San 
Francisco.  His  father’s  yacht  was  wrecked  last  night 
and  he  was  thrown  ashore.  Mr.  Webster,  this  is  my 
father,  Dr.  Collins.” 

Webster  stepped  forward  with  outstretched  hand. 
Dr.  Collins  took  it  a trifle  hesitantly. 

“What  was  your  yacht  doing  so  far  from  the  beaten 
track?”  he  asked  in  a tone  that  was  not  free  from 
suspicion.  Webster  flushed  at  the  tone. 

“We  were  on  a scientific  expedition,”  he  replied. 
“Our  object  was  to  collect  specimens  of  the  fauna  and 
flora  of  these  islands  for  study.  My  father  loaned  his 
yacht  to  a classmate  of  his.  Dr.  Torby,  for  the  purpose. 
I came  along  for  the  trip.” 

“Aloysius  Torby  of  Stanford?”  asked  Dr.  Collins. 

“Yes,  sir.” 

The  Doctor’s  face  cleared  like  magic  and  he  wrung 
Webster’s  hand  heartily.  » 

“You  could  have  no  better  person  than  my  old  friend, 
Aloysius  Torby,  for  sponsor,”  he  said.  “Is  he  with 
you  ?” 

An  Ominous  Note 

FESTER’S  face  clouded. 

“I’m  afraid.  Doctor,  that  he  Is  drowned,”  he 
said.  “It  was  a bad  night  and  he  was  not  a good 
swimmer.” 

“That  will  be  a great  loss  to  biology,”  said  the  Doctor 
feelingly. 

“Mr.  Webster  prevented  another  loss,”  interrupted 
Myra.  “Let  me  tell  you  what  he  did  for  me.” 

In  a few  words  she  recounted  her  adventure  with  the 
spider  and  Webster’s  actions  in  rescuing  her.  Dr. 
Collins  grasped  Webster’s  hand  again. 

“That  alone  would  make  you  welcome,”  he  said 
feelingly.  “She  is  my  only  chick.  Forgive  me  for  my 
first  coldness  to  you.  Strangers  in  the  South  Seas  are 
not  always  desirable  guests.  You  must  come  in  and 
rest.  You  must  be  wearied  by  your  labors.” 

“I  don’t  want  to  intrude  on  your  hospitality.  Doctor. 
If  you’ll  stake  me  to  some  grub  and  give  nie  traveling 
directions.  I’ll  be  on  my  way.” 

“Nonsense!”  cried  the  Doctor,  “You  will  stay  here 
as  my  guest.  In  the  first  place,  I want  you  to  and  in 
the  second  place,  you’ll  have  to.  You  are  on  an  island 
and  your  only  connection  with  the  outside  world  is  a 
supply  ship  which  calls  twice  a year.  It  dalled  about  a 
month  ago,  so  you  are  doomed  to  be  my  guest  for  five 
months  whether  you  desire  it  or  not.  I have  needed 
more  help  than  Myra  has  been  able  to  give  me  and  you 
are  more  than  welcome  until  the  ship  comes  again.  By 
that  time  I hope  to  have  you  so  interested  in  my  work 
that  you  will  stay  on  indefinitely.” 


“And  now  that  that’s  settled,”  said  Myra,  “I’m  going 
in  and  fix  lunch.  It’s  almost  noon  and  Mr.  Webster 
hasn’t  eaten  all  day.  Yes,  you  may  help  if  you  wish  to, 
Mr.  Webster.  As  soon  as  I’ve  changed  into  another 
dress  which  covers  me.  I’ll  be  ready.  We’ll  try  to  rig 
you  out  in  some  of  Daddy’s  extra  clothes  after  you  have 
eaten.” 

Webster  found  that  the  events  of  the  preceding 
twenty-four  hours  had  taken  a heavier  toll  from  his 
strength  than  he  had  realized  and  after  eating  he  was 
glad  to  follow  Myra’s  suggestion  and  throw  himself  on 
a couch  to  rest.  He  dropped  off  to  sleep  in  a moment 
and  it  was  with  an  effort  that  he  roused  himself  for 
supper.  Dr.  Collins’  clothes  proved  entirely  too  small 
for  him  but  Myra  had  rinsed  out  his  clothing  and 
patched  it  while  he  slept  and  he  felt  that  he  made  a 
more  presentable  figure  at  supper  than  he  had  at  lunch. 
Dr.  Collins  proved  himself  a perfect  host  and  chatted 
genially  on  every  subject  except  one.  Any  reference 
to  his  work  or  to  the  spiders  he  put  aside. 

“There  is  plenty  of  time  in  which  to  discuss  that 
matter,  Webster,”  he  said.  “In  the  morning  I’ll  show 
you  everything.  Let’s  talk  about  other  things  tonight.” 

In  a pause  in  the  conversation,  Webster  became  aware 
of  a dull  vibration  in  the  air.  He  listened  but  he  could 
no  place  it  as  anything  familiar  to  him.  It  was  a low 
throbbing  regular  note.  He  glanced  at  Myra  and  saw 
that  her  face  was  pale.  Dr.  Collins  was  paying  no  at- 
tention to  the  noise. 

“What  is  that  noise?”  inquired  Webster  in  an  under- 
tone. 

“What?  Oh,  that  drumming?  That  is  the  note  of 
tom-toms,  war  drums,”  replied  the  Doctor.  “There  are 
canoes  out  on  the  water  and  Tonga,  the  Chief  of  these 
islands,  is  drumming  his  defiance  and  hostility  to  me.” 

Webster  sprang  to  his  feet. 

“What  arms  have  you?”  he  demanded.  “If  they  mean 
business  we  had  better  get  ready  for  them.” 

Dr.  Collins  waved  the  matter  aside  negligently. 

“Tonga  won’t  attack,”  he  said.  “In  the  first  place, 
he  is  afraid  to  land  here  and  in  the  second  place,  his 
warriors  wouldn’t  follow  him  if  he  did.  He  attacked 
us  when  we  first  landed  and  twice  since.  The  supply 
ship  was  here  the  first  time  and  we  handled  him  pretty 
roughly.  The  other  times  Myra  and  I were  here  alone 
but  he  got  handled  even  rougher.  We  took  no  part  in 
repulsing  the  attack  but  it  broke  down  very  suddenly 
without  our  interfering.” 

“What  broke  it  up?” 

“Did  you  notice  that  the  trees  around  this  glade  are 
heavily  draped  with  webs?  Well,  that  was  what  did  it. 
There  are  two  paths  to  the  shore,  one  leading  to  the 
wharf  where  the  supply  ship  comes  and  one  leading  to 
the  other  side  where  you  met  Myra.  We  clear  these 
paths  out  with  flash  tubes  when  we  want  to  use  them 
but  when  Tonga’s  warriors  attacked,  we  neglected  to 
clear  a path  for  them.  The  last  attack  was  about  nine 
months  ago  and  I think  they  lost  a dozen  men  before 
they  fled.  I can  show  you  the  picked  skeletons  where 
they  fell  if  you  are  interested.  As  far  as  Tonga’s  head 
hunters  go,  our  position  is  impregnable.” 

Webster  glanced  at  Myra  and  she  smiled  bravely 
although  the  worried  look  did  not  entirely  leave  her  face. 

“We’re  safe,  I think,”  she  said  with  an  attempt  at 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  SPIDER  ISLAND 


32? 


lightness,  "but  the  throbbing  of  those  war  drums  always 
gives  me  the  shivers.” 

" “Nonsense,  Myra!”  laughed  Dr.  Collins.  “Your 
nerves  are  running  away  with  you.  There  isn’t  a war- 
rior in  Tonga’s  tribe  with  nerve  enough  to  land  here 
again.  Let’s  talk  of  more  pleasant  subjects.” 

The  evening  passed  quickly  but  long  after  they  had 
retired  for  the  night  Webster  could  hear  the  dull  throb- 
bing rhythm  of  the  drums  and  he  tossed  restlessly, 
wondering  if  the  Doctor’s  confidence  was  justified. 
About  midnight  the  sound  died  away  and  he  slept  until 
Myra’s  cheery  call  awakened  him. 

After  breakfast  Dr.  Collins  announced  his  intention 
of  showing  his  visitor  about  the  place.  Myra  declined 
to  accompany  them  and  the  Doctor  led  the  way  into  a 
room  containing  a series  of  tanks,  a row  of  drying  ovens 
capable  of  holding  large  reels,  a spinning  wheel  and  a 
hand  loom. 

“This  where  we  treat  the  webs,”  explained  the  Doctor. 
"We  gather  them  and  bring  them  in  here  in  bundles. 
As  we  get  them  they  are  sticky  and  ball  together  in 
lumps.  We  put  the  lumps  into  these  tanks  and  treat  them 
with  dilute  alkali  and  other  chemicals  which  I have  dis- 
covered are  efficacious  in  removing  the  stickiness.  When 
they  can  be  readily  broken  up,  we  separate  them,  dry 
them  and  spin  them  into  thread.  Myra  has  woven  some 
of  the  thread  into  cloth  on  this  hand  loom.  It  is  un- 
satisfactory, but  power  is  at  a premium  here.  So  far  we 
have  produced  no  very  good  cloth  but  that  is  a minor 
matter.  Once  the  textile  industry  receives  the  raw 
material  in  proper  shape  for  spinning  and  weaving,  they 
will  rapidly  develop  the  proper  machinery.” 

The  Hand  of  the  Master 

“T  T NDOUBTEDLY,”  replied  Webster,  “but  it 
w seems  to  me.  Doctor,  that  you  are  overlooking 
one  very  vital  factor.” 

“And  that  is?” 

“Your  supply  of  raw  material,  of  untreated  spider 
webs.” 

"It  is  limitless.  There  are  millions  of  spiders  in  every 
part  of  the  world  and  if  more  are  needed,  they  are 
easier  to  breed  than  silkworms.  The  worm  dies  when 
its  cocoon  is  used  but  when  the  spider’s  web  is  used,  it 
promptly  builds  another  one.  By  selective  breeding,  un- 
doubtedly spiders  can  be  developed  which  will  produce 
more  web  and  better  web.” 

“That  is  true  but  my  point  is  a different  one.  Here 
you  have  a peculiar  breed  of  spiders  whiqh  produce  a 
strand  strong  enough  to  work  and  use.  Is  the  produc- 
tion of  web  from  a small  American  or  European  spider 
large  enough  to  make  it  a profitable  thing  to  gather  and 
treat  the  webs  and  would  the  strands  of  the  webs  be 
strong  enough  to  spin  into  thread?” 

“No.  The  ordinary  spider  web  is  worthless  due  to  its 
lack  of  tensile  strength  but  you  had  a taste  of  the 
strength  of  the  web  of  my  spiders  yesterday.  From 
some  of  the  big  webs  I could  make  a hawser  that  would 
hold  a battleship.” 

‘Wes,  but  aren’t  these  large  spiders  confined  to  this 
locality?  I don’t  remember  of  ever  hearing  of  them 
before.” 

“They  are  confined  to  this  island  at  present,  but  they 
can  be  produced  anywhere.” 


“Will  they  thrive  in  other  localities  and  climates  ?” 
“Anywhere  that  other  spiders  can  thrive.  When  we 
came  to  this  island,  a little  more  than  two  years  ago,  the 
largest  spider  was  the  size  of  a pea.  The  giants  you  have 
seen,  I have  made.  I can  treat  a common  house  spider 
and  turn  it  into  a giant  in  a few  months.” 

“How  on  earth  do  you  do  it?” 

“That  is  the  crux  of  my  work.  Come  into  the  next 
room.” 

The  next  room  contained  a bank  of  heavy  storage 
batteries,  a motor-generator  set,  a series  of  tubes  re- 
sembling X-ray  tubes  and  a bakelite  box,  the  front  of 
which  was  studded  with  control  dials.  From  the  box 
two  leads  ran  to  a tube,  one  end  of  which  was  a para- 
bolic reflector  at  the  focus  of  which  was  a coil.  In  the 
center  of  the  tube  a silvery  button  was  set  at  an  angle. 
Below  the  button  was  a violet  colored  lens  which  con- 
centrated any  rays  reflected  by  the  button  into  a crystal 
box  set  on  an  insulated  table. 

“Do  you  know  anything  about  biology?”  asked  Dr. 
Collins.  “No?  Then  I will  have  to  begin  an  an  elemen- 
tary manner.  In  the  body  of  any  well-developed  organ- 
ism are  a number  of  small  bodies  known  as  the  ductless 
glands.  The  functions  of  many  of  them  are  unknown 
but  certain  of  them  have  been  closely  studied  and  their 
functions  determined.  The  thyroid  gland,  with  which 
we  are  now  concerned,  is  the  one  which  controls  the 
growth  of  the  body.” 

“I  have  heard  something  of  the  sort.” 

“In  man,  the  thyroid  gland  consists  of  two  small 
maroon  colored  bodies  connected  by  a bridge  of  tissue 
and  lying  one  on  either  side  of  the  windpipe.  In  some 
of  the  earlier  primates  the  gland  was  part  of  the  sexual 
apparatus  and  even  in  man  it  probably  takes  some 
obscure  part  in  the  act  of  reproduction.  Under  the 
microscope,  the  tissue  of  these  glands  is  made  up  of  a 
multitude  of  small  nodules,  imperfectly  spherical  in 
shape,  lined  with  a layer  of  cells.  The  whole  encloses 
a bit  of  jelly-like  substance,  rich  in  iodine  and  contain- 
ing traces  of  arsenic. 

“The  undue  stimulation  of  this  gland  produces  ab- 
normal growth  while  lack  of  activity  is  the  cause  of 
dwarfism.  Undersized  children  have  been  helped  by 
feeding  them  the  dessicated  thyroid  of  sheep.  In  order 
to  increase  the  size  of  a living  organism,  it  is  only  neces- 
sary to  stimulate  the  thyroid  gland  to  abnormal  activity 
and  the  desired  result  follows.  The  giant  spiders  are 
ordinary  tiny  spiders  whose  thyroid  glands  I have  op- 
erated on.” 

“The  thyroid  gland  of  a spider  must  be  microscopic,” 
protested  Webster.  “How  can  you  fashion  instruments 
delicate  enough  for  such  work  ?” 

“I  can’t,  I use  rays.  To  be  specific,  I use  the  Collins 
ray,  a variation  of  the  ordinary  infra-red  ray.  You 
have  seen  the  results  of  the  alpha  phase  of  this  ray  when 
you  used  Myra’s  flash  tube.” 

“It  seemed  to  disintegrate  the  web,”  said  Webster 
thoughtfully. 

"The  alpha  phase  has  that  effect.  But  when  the  beta 
rays  are  filtered  through  a lens  stained  with  methyl 
violet,  they  have  the  property  of  stimulating  either  the 
thyroid  gland  or  some  unknown  gland  which  in  turn 
controls  the  thyroid.  All  of  the  ductless  glands  are 
somewhat  interdependent  on  one  another  in  their  action. 


330 


STORIES 


WONDER 

The  ray  has  no  other  effect  except  that  it  also  stimulates 
the  poison  sacs  of  the  spiders  and  makes  the  giant  spider 
not  only  larger  but  more  venomous  than  it  was  before 
treatment. 

“To  produce  a giant  spider  I put  a normal  spider  in 
this  rock  crystal  box  and  turn  the  ray  on.  Twenty  sec- 
onds of  exposure  is  sufficient,  although  an  exposure  of 
half  an  hour  does  no  harm  and  has  no  more  effect  than 
one  of  twenty  seconds.  A shorter  exposure  has  no  effect 
at  all.” 

“Do  they  grow  instantly?” 

“No  indeed,  the  ray  works  no  miracles.  The  treated 
spider  will  grow  in  proportion  to  the  amount  of  food 
available  for  a period  of  from  two  to  four  months  and 
then  growth  ceases.  A second  stimulation  has  no  effect.” 

“I  saw  spiders  of  all  sizes  from  an  inch  to  nearly  two 
feet  across.  I suppose  they  represent  different  stages 
of  growth?” 

“No,  they  are  all  fully  developed.  I have  worked  on 
none  for  the  last  five  months.  There  is  one  peculiarity  of 
the  ray  which  I am  unable  to  explain.  Some  of  the 
spiders  do  little  more  than  double  in  size  while  others 
grow  to  gargantuan  proportions.  Two  spiders  from  the 
same  parents  and  apparently  similar  in  every  respect 
may  produce  the  two  extremes  with  the  same  treatment 
and  feeding.  The  problem  on  which  I am  now  working 
is  the  control  of  my  ray  to  make  it  produce  uniform 
and  predictable  results.  When  I can  do  that,  I am  ready 
to  return  to  the  world  and  remake  civilization.” 

“Remake  civilization?”  Webster  glanced  sharply  at 
the  Doctor  as  he  spoke. 

“Certainly,”  went  on  Dr.  Collins,  his  eyes  gleaming. 
“Do  you  suppose  that  I have  buried  myself  and  Myra 
for  years  and  spent  my  fortune  in  order  to  make  a 
substitute  for  silk?  Think  of  the  possibilities  that  ray 
affords.  Lambs  could  be  treated  and  we  could  buy 
chops  that  weighed  pounds.  Think  of  what  it  would 
mean  to  farmers  to  raise  their  hogs  to  giant  size  in  two 
months ! It  will  make  food  plentiful  enough  that  hunger 
would  vanish  from  the  world.  Doubtless  the  principle 
can  be  extended  to  the  plant  kingdom  and  a tiny  frac- 
tion of  the  world’s  population  working  short  hours 
could  feed  the  world.” 

CHAPTER  III 
A New  Life 

WEBSTER  looked  in  awe  at  the  Doctor.  The 
magnitude  of  the  vision  almost  overcame  him  as 
he  looked  at  it  through  the  inspired  gaze  of  the 
scientist. 

“Wonderful!”  he  cried.  “You  will  be  the  benefactor 
of  mankind!’ 

“Not  of  mankind,  but  of  supermankind,”  cried  the 
Doctor.  “When  the  energy  that  is  now  devoted  to 
producing  food  is  turned  into  other  channels,  think  of 
the  advances  that  will  be  made  in  the  arts  and  sciences ! 
Poverty  and  crime  will  be  things  of  the  past  and  Man 
will  come  into  his  true  inheritance.  I have  told  you  that 
I needed  an  assistant.  Will  you  stay  and  help  me?” 
“With  all  my  heart!”  cried  Webster  as  he  grasped 
the  Doctor’s  hand. 

“I  thank  you,”  Dr.  Collins  said  gravely.  “Your  re- 
ward will  be  great  indeed  if  we  succeed.” 


Over  the  Doctor’s  shoulder  Webster  caught  a glimpse 
of  Myra  standing  in  the  doorway  and  his  heart  gave  a 
bound.  If  he  succeeded,  he  felt  that  his  reward  might 
indeed  be  great,  the  greatest  reward  for  which  he  could 
ask. 

The  island  on  which  Webster  found  himself  was  a 
mile  and  a quarter  long  and  three-quarters  of  a mile 
wide  at  its  widest  point.  The  clearing  where  the  house 
stood  occupied  the  central  part  of  the  island  which  was 
for  the  most  part  overgrown  with  lush  tropical  vegeta- 
tion through  which  it  required  an  effort  to  force  a path. 
Two  paths  had  been  cleared  from  the  house  leading  to 
the  shore  on  either  side  of  the  island.  The  one  by 
which  Webster  had  approached  the  house  was  little 
used  for  the  other  ran  to  the  wharf  where  the  supply 
boat  periodically  docked  with  supplies  for  the  Doctor 
and  his  daughter.  A narrow  deep  water  channel  ran 
close  to  the  shore  on  the  windward  side  and  the  ship 
could  come  close  to  the  shore  to  unload.  A wide  path 
led  from  the  wharf  to  the  house  and  while  it  was  usually 
festooned  and  blocked  with  the  webs  of  the  giant 
spiders,  a flash  tube  would  readily  open  a path  up  which 
coolies  would  bring  the  food  and  other  supplies  for  the 
next  half  year. 

The  ship  and  a radio  receiver  were  the  only  contacts 
which  the  Doctor  had  with  the  world  with  the  exception 
of  a twenty-foot  gasoline  launch  which  was  kept  in  a 
steel  and  concrete  boat  house  on  the  wharf.  The  launch 
was  not  intended  for  regular  use  but  represented  a pos- 
sible method  of  escape  from  the  island  should  an  emer- 
gency arise.  Once  a month  the  Doctor  would  go  down 
to  the  boat  house  and  start  the  motor  and  cruise  around 
near  the  shore.  After  the  first  month  this  became  a part 
of  Webster’s  duties,  usually  with  Myra  accompanying 
him.  They  were  careful  never  to  go  far  for  Tonga’s 
island  lay  only  a half  mile  to  the  east  and  his  war  canoes 
might  be  cruising  in  the  vicinity  at  any  time.  The 
launch  was  well  equipped  to  deal  with  an  ordinary  attack 
for  it  carried  a one-pounder  gun  in  the  stern  and  a 
machine  gun  mounted  in  the  bow.  The  guns  and  plenty 
of  ammunition,  together  with  a tank  of  water  and  food 
supplies  for  a week  was  all  the  launch  carried,  all  other 
space  being  taken  up  by  heavy  steel  drums  of  gasoline. 

The  drumming  which  Webster  had  heard  on  the  night 
of  his  arrival  proved  to  be  a periodical  affair.  Three 
nights  of  each  lunar  month,  on  the  nights  when  the 
moon  was  dark,  the  drumming  sounded  in  the  distance. 
No  attempt  was  made  by  the  head  hunters  to  land  and 
the  nervousness  which  Webster  had  felt  at  first  hearing 
the  drums  passed  and  he  soon  regarded  them  as  little  as 
did  the  Doctor. 

Dr.  Collins  made  full  use  of  his  new  assistant. 
Webster  had  little  scientific  training  but  he  learned 
easily  and  under  the  tutelage  of  the  Doctor  he  developed 
into  a good  laboratory  technician.  The  first  and  fore- 
most object  of  the  experiments  was  to  find  a means  of 
controlling  the  force  which  the  Doctor  had  loosed  so 
that  he  could  set  his  apparatus  to  secure  the  exact 
stimulus  needed  to  make  the  subject  grow  a predeter- 
mined amount.  A careful  recheck  of  his  old  work  was 
made  but  neither  the  rate  of  growth  nor  the  ultimate 
amount  of  it  seemed  to  be  affected  by  the  length  of 
exposure,  provided  the  minimum  of  twenty  seconds 
was  used.  A shorter  exposure  proved  ineffectual. 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  SPIDER  ISLAND 


331 


Minute  variations  in  the  adjustment  of  the  apparatus 
had  no  effect  and  any  radical  change  rendered  it  im- 
potent. 

It  was  Webster  who,  from  the  depths  of  his  ignorance, 
suggested  changing  the  focal  length  of  the  concentrating 
lens  and  bringing  the  subject  closer  to  the  source  of  the 
beta  Collins  ray.  The  change  was  made  and  a number 
of  normal  sized  spiders  and  several  of  the  giant  spiders 
who  had  made  only  a small  growth  were  treated  and 
they  sat  back  to  await  the  results.  Some  change  had 
evidently  been  effected  for  the  spiders  grew  more 
rapidly  than  had  the  ones  first  treated.  Although  they 
received  their  thyroid  stimulation  a month  after  an 
earlier  batch,  they  soon  caught  up  with  them  and  passed 
them.  Whether  this  was  merely  a more  rapid  growth 
or  the  first  increment  of  a larger  total  growth  time  alone 
would  tell  and  the  Doctor  ceased  work  until  this  point 
could  be  determined. 

A Sudden  Attack 

The  cessation  of  work  was  very  welcome  to  Web- 
ster. He  had  grown  deeply  interested  in  the  prob- 
lem and  was  as  impatient  as  the  Doctor  to  learn  what 
were  the  results  of  his  suggested  modification,  but  in 
the  mean  time,  it  was  pleasant  to  loaf  and  especially 
with  Myra.  He  had  been  figuratively  bowled  over  by 
her  slender  beauty  when  he  had  first  seen  her  and  the 
three  months  which  had  passed  had  merely  served  to 
strengthen  her  fascination.  Webster  was  in  love. 

His  position  was  no  wholly  a pleasant  one.  He  felt 
sure  that  Myra  did  not  regard  him  with  disfavor,  but  at 
the  same  time  she  gave  not  the  slightest  evidence  that 
she  looked  on  him  other  than  as  a friend  and  a playmate. 
He  longed  to  ask  the  question  which  would  tell  him 
whether  her  indifference  was  a mask  to  a deeper  feeling 
but  he  did  not  dare.  He  could  not  leave  the  island  and 
the  thought  of  watching  her  daily  and  knowing  her  to 
be  unattainable  was  not  one  on  which  he  cared  to  dwdl. 
Better  uncertainty  than  that. 

Even  were  she  to  admit  that  she  shared  his  feelings, 
Webster  hesitated.  Propinquity  often  works  miracles 
in  the  matter  of  affection  and  he  feared  that  on  her  re- 
turn to  the  world  she  would  find  that  what  she  had  mis- 
taken for  love  was  only  attraction  caused  by  his  sole 
availability.  As  soon  as  they  left  the  island  he  would  be 
free  to  ask  her  to  share  his  life  and  the  need  for  a 
speedy  completion  of  her  father’s  work  seemed  more 
than  ever  urgent.  Myra  herself  advanced  another  need 
for  speed.  She  turned  to  him  one  afternoon  as  they 
were  sitting  on  the  grass  not  far  from  the  house. 

"Bill,”  she  said  abruptly,  "you  like  Daddy,  don’t 
you  ?” 

"I  think  he  is  one  of  the  finest  characters  and  the 
greatest  man  I have  ever  met.” 

"I’m  glad  you  like  him,  Bill,  it  makes  it  easier  to  ask 
you  to  help  me.  I am  badly  worried  about  him.” 

“In  what  way?” 

“It  has  seemed  to  me  that  he  has  been  growing 
weaker  for  the  last  three  months.  Haven’t  you  noticed 
how  any  slight  exertion  tires  him?” 

Webster  hesitated.  He  had  noticed  that  Dr.  Collins 
did  not  appear  strong  and  had  often  urged  him  to  rest, 
a suggestion  which  the  Doctor  invariably  laughed  at. 

"I  don’t  know,  Myra.  I haven’t  known  him  very 
long.” 


“I  am  sure  of  it  and  I want  you  to  help  me.” 

"I’ll  do  anything  you  ask.” 

“When  the  supply  ship  comes  the  month  after  next, 

I want  to  take  him  home  to  the  States  and  get  him  fixed 
up.  Do  you  think  we  can  do  it  ?” 

"I  doubt  it,  Myra.  Our  experiments  are  coming  along 
so  well  that  I doubt  whether  he  can  be  persuaded  to 
leave  them.” 

"We’ll  have  to  think  up  something.  Bill,  I’m  scared 
to  death  about  him.  He  is  the  only  one  I have  in  the 
world,  you  know.” 

She  swayed  toward  him  as  she  spoke  and  Webster 
bit  his  lips  to  keep  from  folding  her  in  his  arms.  Her 
moment  of  weakness  passed  and  she  straightened  up 
with  a brave  smile.  As  she  did  so  she  gave  a scream  and 
bounded  forward.  Webster  scrambled  to  his  feet  and 
looked  behind  him.  They  were  a good  fifty  yards  from 
the  edge  of  the  clearing  and  the  spiders  had  always 
kept  to  the  trees  but  on  the  grass  advancing  toward  them 
was  one  of  the  newly  stimulated  spiders,  his  body  a 
good  twelve  inches  across.  Webster  reached  in  his 
pocket  for  his  flash  tube  and  realized  to  his  dismay 
that  he  had  forgotten  it.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
ever  seen  one  of  the  spiders  on  the  ground  in  the  open 
and  he  had  not  meant  to  go  near  a tree  when  he  left  the 
house. 

“Your  flash  tube,  Myra!”  he  cried. 

“I  haven’t  got  it.  Haven’t  you  got  one?” 

For  answer  Webster  looked  around  and  picked  up  a 
bit  of  dead  branch  and  hurled  it  at  the  spider.  Instead 
of  scampering  away,  the  creature  held  its  ground,  saliva 
dripping  from  its  working  jaws,  and  then  launched  an 
attack.  Webster  ducked  as  the  heavy  body  covered  with 
coarse  hair  hurtled  through  the  air  and  the  arthropod 
flew  over  his  head,  a trailing  leg  laying  open  his  cheek 
as  it  passed.  The  spider  struck  the  ground  beyond  him 
and  as  he  whirled  about,  it  jumped  again.  Webster 
dodged  the  second  attack  and  looked  vainly  for  a 
weapon.  There  was  nothing  in  sight  and  he  stood  his 
ground  barehanded  for  he  knew  that  flight  was  useless. 
He  gave  a hasty  glance  around  for  Myra  and  saw  to  his 
relief  that  she  was  running  for  the  house. 

Satisfied  that  she  was  safe,  he  turned  his  attention 
to  his  opponent  just  in  time.  The  spider  had  evidently 
decided  that  leaps  were  useless  and  it  scuttled  over  the 
ground  toward  Webster  at  full  speed.  Two  of  its  power- 
ful legs  came  up  and  gripped  Webster’s  thigh  and  the 
slavering  mouth  drew  near.  Webster  cut  his  hands 
cruelly  on  the  barbed  legs  of  the  creature  as  he  strove 
to  force  it  away  from  him.  The  strength  which  lay  in 
those  legs  amazed  him.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
come  to  hand  grips  with  one  of  the  larger  spiders  and 
his  strength  was  barely  sufficient  to  hold  his  enemy  off 
from  him. 

The  creature  worked  closer  and  doubled  back  its  legs 
in  spite  of  Webster’s  struggles.  Another  leg  shot  out 
and  grasped  him  and  he  was  drawn  closer  to  those  gap- 
ing jaws  whose  touch,  he  knew,  meant  death.  Nearer 
he  came  until  only  inches  separated  his  throat  from  the 
greedy  jaws.  He  heard  footsteps  behind  him  and  full 
into  the  face  of  the  spider  was  thrust  a nickeled  tube  and 
a yellow  ray  poured  full  into  the  hideous  maw.  The 
spider  relaxed  its  hold  and  Webster  tore  himself  free 
from  it. 


332 


SVONDER  STORIES 


“Quick,  Bill,  he’s  coming  again !’’ 

At  Myra’s  call  he  scrambled  to  his  feet.  Not  daunted 
by  the  ray  the  spider  resumed  its  advance,  although 
more  cautiously.  Webster  took  the  tube  from  Myra  and 
stepped  forward  to  meet  it.  Again  the  ray  flashed  out 
and  once  more  the  spider  retreated. 

“Run  for  the  house,  Myra!’’  he  called.  “I’ll  follow 
and  hold  this  fellow  at  bay.’’ 

Besieged! 

He  backed  slowly  followed  by  the  hideous  monster. 

Again  and  again  he  flashed  his  ray  at  it  but  with 
each  attack  the  spider  heeded  the  ray  less.  He  had 
covered  half  the  distance  to  the  house  when  Myra’s 
voice  rang  out  behind  him  in  horror. 

“Run,  Bill,  run!  Here  comes  another  one!’’ 

He  glanced  around  and  saw  another  of  the  monsters 
crossing  the  ground  toward  them.  He  rushed  at  his 
first  enemy  and  thrust  the  tube  almost  into  its  mouth. 
The  shock  of  the  ray  threw  the  spider  back  and  Web- 
ster turned  and  ran  for  the  house.  Ahead  of  him  Myra 
fled  like  a deer.  A glance  over  his  shoulder  showed 
him  that  the  spider  was  following  slowly  as  if  in  pain 
but  across  the  grass  a dozen  more  were  racing  to  the 
fray. 

Webster’s  heart  pounded  as  he  approached  the  door. 
The  nearest  spider  was  as  close  to  it  as  he  was  and  was 
moving  faster.  Myra  was  already  inside  with  her  hand 
on  the  door  ready  to  slam  it  behind  him.  He  neglected 
his  pursuer  and  concentrated  on  his  new  foe.  The  new- 
comer saw  its  prey  about  to  escape  and  launched  itself 
through  the  air  in  a twenty  foot  leap.  Webster  checked 
his  advance  long  enough  to  let  it  pass  in  front  of  him 
and  hurled  his  tube  at  it.  His  aim  was  good  and  the 
spider  paused  for  a moment.  The  pause  spelled  safety 
for  Webster  for  Myra  slammed  the  door  behind  him 
just  as  the  spider’s  body  struck  it  with  a thud. 

“Thanks,”  he  gasped  as  he  helped  her  shoot  the  iron 
bar.  “You  pulled  me  out  of  a pretty  tight  hole.” 

“That  makes  us  quits,”  she  said  with  a tremulous 
laugh.  “You  did  the  same  for  me  once.” 

Again  she  swayed  toward  him  and  in  another  moment 
she  would  have  been  in  his  arms  but  the  voice  of  Dr. 
Collins  cut  in  on  them. 

“What’s  the  matter?”  he  asked. 

“We  were  attacked  by  the  spiders,”  explained  Web- 
ster. 

“Attacked?  Nonsense!  The  spiders  won’t  attack 
anything  that  isn’t  caught  in  their  webs.” 

“That’s  what  I thought  but  half  a dozen  of  the  new 
lot  crossed  the  open  and  attacked  us.  Doctor,  and  they 
meant  business.  If  Myra  hadn’t  run  to  the  house  and 
brought  me  a flash  tube,  I would  have  been  done  for. 
For  some  reason  the  tube  wasn’t  very  effective.” 
“Was  it  freshly  charged?” 

“I  charged  them  all  yesterday.” 

“That’s  funny.  Our  batteries  must  be  weak.” 

“The  ray  came  out  in  good  volume  but  it  dtdn’f  sfopi 
the  spiders.” 

“I  don’t  understand  it.  Even  a slight  touch  of  the  ray 
has  always  sent  them  scampering.” 

“Try  them  through  a window.  I fancy  they  are  still 
there.” 


Dr.  Collins  approached  bne  of  the  barred  windows 
and  swung  open  the  sash.  Outside  were  thirty  or  forty  of 
the  huge  spiders  ranging  about  the  house  and  crawling 
over  it.  The  Doctor  shot  the  ray  at  the  nearest  one  but 
the  spider  hesitated  only  a moment  and  then  advanced 
full  against  the  beam.  One  barbed  leg  reached  in 
through  the  bars  and  Dr.  Collins  sent  a ray  full  against 
it  at  a distance  of  a few  inches.  There  was  a curl  of 
smoke  and  the  leg  dropped  to  the  floor  where  it  twitched 
futilely  but  the  spider  did  not  retreat.  With  an  ex- 
clamation the  Doctor  thrust  out  his  arm  and  sent  ray 
full  into  the  gaping  mouth.  For  a moment  he  held  it 
there  and  the  spider  retreated  slowly  and  sullenly, 
writhing  in  torment.  Another  of  the  arthropods  tried  t^ 
grasp  the  Doctor’s  arm  as  he  drew  it  in. 

“Where  are  the  guns?”  asked  Webster. 

The  Doctor  hastened  out  of  the  room  and  came  back 
in  a few  moments  with  his  arms  full  of  weapons.  He 
handed  Webster  a rifle  and  took  another  himself.  The 
two  men  opened  fire  on  the  besiegers  without  apparent 
effect.  Webster  picked  out  one  of  the  largest  of  the 
attackers  and  fired  seven  shots  into  it  before  the  spider 
turned  and  ran  slowly  and  feebly  away. 

“Rifles  don’t  seem  to  be  much  good,”  he  commented. 
“Have  you  a shotgun?” 

A charge  of  birdshot  drove  one  of  the  attackers  back 
but  the  left  barrel  of  the  weapon  was  empty. 

“Give  me  some  shells,”  he  said. 

“I  don’t  believe  there  are  any  more,”  said  the  Doctor. 
“The  supply  ship  forgot  them  on  her  last  trip  and  I 
think  you  fired  the  last  one.  I think  we  have  plenty  of 
rifle  cartridges.” 

“They  aren’t  much  good.  See  if  you  can  find  some 
shells.” 

The  Doctor  went  in  search  of  ammunition  but  re- 
turned with  the  news  that  he  could  find  only  four, 
enough  to  load  each  barrel  of  the  two  guns. 

“We’d  better  save  those  for  emergencies,”  said  Web- 
ster as  he  thrust  them  into  his  pocket,  “and  it’s  a waste 
of  time  to  shoot  them  with  rifles.  We  have  plenty  of 
food  in  the  house  but  how  about  water  ?” 

“Enough  to  last  for  a week  with  care,”  reported 
Myra. 

“And  after  that,  drought,”  he  commented.  “Well, 
we  are  safe  for  the  present.  Let’s  hope  they  raise  the 
siege  before  long.” 

Raising  the  siege  was  the  last  thing  the  spiders 
showed  signs  of  doing.  They  prowled  over  the  house 
and  when  they  found  no  entrance  they  began  spinning 
webs  over  the  doors  and  windows  and  every  other  open- 
ing through  which  the  odor  of  life  could  reach  them. 
In  an  hour  every  opening  was  securely  guarded  by  a 
web,  in  the  center  of  which  hung  one  of  the  grisly  mon- 
sters, waiting  patiently  for  its  prey. 

Further  experiments  with  the  flash  tubes  proved  use- 
less and  Dr.  Collins  went  into  the  laboratory  and  began 
to  make  some  modifications  in  his  hookup.  Webster 
joined  him  and  he  explained  that  he  meant  to  construct 
a monster  tube  and  turn  the  force  of  his  whole  bank  of 
batteries  through  it. 

“It  will  blast  a hole  through  eighteen  inches  of  steel 
when  I get  it  connected,”  he  said.  “I  think  it  will  de- 
stroy them  quickly.” 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  SPIDER  ISLAND 


331 


Minute  variations  in  the  adjustment  of  the  apparatus 
had  no  effect  and  any  radical  change  rendered  it  im- 
potent. 

It  was  Webster  who,  from  the  depths  of  his  ignorance, 
suggested  changing  the  focal  length  of  the  concentrating 
lens  and  bringing  the  subject  closer  to  the  source  of  the 
beta  Collins  ray.  The  change  was  made  and  a number 
of  normal  sized  spiders  and  several  of  the  giant  spiders 
who  had  made  only  a small  growth  were  treated  and 
they  sat  back  to  await  the  results.  Some  change  had 
evidently  been  effected  for  the  spiders  grew  more 
rapidly  than  had  the  ones  first  treated.  Although  they 
received  their  thyroid  stimulation  a month  after  an 
earlier  batch,  they  soon  caught  up  with  them  and  passed 
them.  Whether  this  was  merely  a more  rapid  growth 
or  the  first  increment  of  a larger  total  growth  time  alone 
would  tell  and  the  Doctor  ceased  work  until  this  point 
could  be  determined. 

A Sudden  Attack 

The  cessation  of  work  was  very  welcome  to  Web- 
ster. He  had  grown  deeply  interested  in  the  prob- 
lem and  was  as  impatient  as  the  Doctor  to  learn  what 
were  the  results  of  his  suggested  modification,  but  in 
the  mean  time,  it  was  pleasant  to  loaf  and  especially 
with  Myra.  He  had  been  figuratively  bowled  over  by 
her  slender  beauty  when  he  had  first  seen  her  and  the 
three  months  which  had  passed  had  merely  served  to 
strengthen  her  fascination.  Webster  was  in  love. 

His  position  was  no  wholly  a pleasant  one.  He  felt 
sure  that  Myra  did  not  regard  him  with  disfavor,  but  at 
the  same  time  she  gave  not  the  slightest  evidence  that 
she  looked  on  him  other  than  as  a friend  and  a playmate. 
He  longed  to  ask  the  question  which  would  tell  him 
whether  her  indifference  was  a mask  to  a dee^r  feeling 
but  he  did  not  dare.  He  could  not  leave  the  island  and 
the  thought  of  watching  her  daily  and  knowing  her  to 
be  unattainable  was  not  one  on  which  he  cared  to  dwdl. 
Better  uncertaintly  than  that. 

Even  were  she  to  admit  that  she  shared  his  feelings, 
Webster  hesitated.  Propinquity  often  works  miracles 
in  the  matter  of  affection  and  he  feared  that  on  her  re- 
turn to  the  world  she  would  find  that  what  she  had  mis- 
taken for  love  was  only  attraction  caused  by  his  sole 
availability.  As  soon  as  they  left  the  island  he  would  be 
free  to  ask  her  to  share  his  life  and  the  need  for  a 
speedy  completion  of  her  father’s  work  seemed  more 
than  ever  urgent.  Myra  herself  advanced  another  need 
for  speed.  She  turned  to  him  one  afternoon  as  they 
were  sitting  on  the  grass  not  far  from  the  house. 

"Bill,”  she  said  abruptly,  “you  like  Daddy,  don’t 
you  ?” 

"I  think  he  is  one  of  the  finest  characters  and  the 
greatest  man  I have  ever  met.” 

"I’m  glad  you  like  him.  Bill,  it  makes  it  easier  to  ask 
you  to  help  me.  I am  badly  worried  about  him.” 

“In  what  way?” 

“It  has  seemed  to  me  that  he  has  been  growing 
weaker  for  the  last  three  months.  Haven’t  you  noticed 
how  any  slight  exertion  tires  him?” 

Webster  hesitated.  He  had  noticed  that  Dr.  Collins 
did  not  appear  strong  and  had  often  urged  him  to  rest, 
a suggestion  which  the  Doctor  invariably  laughed  at. 

“I  don’t  know,  Myra.  I haven’t  known  him  very 
long.” 


“I  am  sure  of  it  and  I want  you  to  help  me.” 

“I’ll  do  anything  you  ask.” 

“When  the  supply  ship  comes  the  month  after  next, 

I want  to  take  him  home  to  the  States  and  get  him  fixed 
up.  Do  you  think  we  can  do  it  ?” 

“I  doubt  it,  Myra.  Our  experiments  are  coming  along 
so  well  that  I doubt  whether  he  can  be  persuaded  to 
leave  them.” 

“We’ll  have  to  think  up  something.  Bill,  I’m  scared 
to  death  about  him.  He  is  the  only  one  I have  in  the 
world,  you  know.” 

She  swayed  toward  him  as  she  spoke  and  Webster 
bit  his  lips  to  keep  from  folding  her  in  his  arms.  Her 
moment  of  weakness  passed  and  she  straightened  up 
with  a brave  smile.  As  she  did  so  she  gave  a scream  and 
bounded  forward.  Webster  scrambled  to  his  feet  and 
looked  behind  him.  They  were  a good  fifty  yards  from 
the  edge  of  the  clearing  and  the  spiders  had  always 
kept  to  the  trees  but  on  the  grass  advancing  toward  them 
was  one  of  the  newly  stimulated  spiders,  his  body  a 
good  twelve  inches  across.  Webster  reached  in  his 
pocket  for  his  flash  tube  and  realized  to  his  dismay 
that  he  had  forgotten  it.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
ever  seen  one  of  the  spiders  on  the  ground  in  the  open 
and  he  had  not  meant  to  go  near  a tree  when  he  left  the 
house. 

“Your  flash  tube,  Myra!”  he  cried. 

“I  haven’t  got  it.  Haven’t  you  got  one?” 

For  answer  Webster  looked  around  and  picked  up  a 
bit  of  dead  branch  and  hurled  it  at  the  spider.  Instead 
of  scampering  away,  the  creature  held  its  ground,  saliva 
dripping  from  its  working  jaws,  and  then  launched  an 
attack.  Webster  ducked  as  the  heavy  body  covered  with 
coarse  hair  hurtled  through  the  air  and  the  arthropod 
flew  over  his  head,  a trailing  leg  laying  open  his  cheek 
as  it  passed.  The  spider  struck  the  ground  beyond  him 
and  as  he  whirled  about,  it  jumped  again.  Webster 
dodged  the  second  attack  and  looked  vainly  for  a 
weapon.  There  was  nothing  in  sight  and  he  stood  his 
ground  barehanded  for  he  knew  that  flight  was  useless. 
He  gave  a hasty  glance  around  for  Myra  and  saw  to  his 
relief  that  she  was  running  for  the  house. 

Satisfied  that  she  was  safe,  he  turned  his  attention 
to  his  opponent  just  in  time.  The  spider  had  evidently 
decided  that  leaps  were  useless  and  it  scuttled  over  the 
ground  toward  Webster  at  full  speed.  Two  of  its  power- 
ful legs  came  up  and  gripped  Webster’s  thigh  and  the 
slavering  mouth  drew  near.  Webster  cut  his  hands 
cruelly  on  the  barbed  legs  of  the  creature  as  he  strove 
to  force  it  away  from  him.  The  strength  which  lay  in 
those  legs  amazed  him.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
come  to  hand  grips  with  one  of  the  larger  spiders  and 
his  strength  was  barely  sufficient  to  hold  his  enemy  off 
from  him. 

The  creature  worked  closer  and  doubled  back  its  legs 
in  spite  of  Webster’s  struggles.  Another  leg  shot  out 
and  grasped  him  and  he  was  drawn  closer  to  those  gap- 
ing jaws  whose  touch,  he  knew,  meant  death.  Nearer 
he  came  until  only  inches  separated  his  throat  from  the 
greedy  jaws.  He  heard  footsteps  behind  him  and  full 
into  the  face  of  the  spider  was  thrust  a nickeled  tube  and 
a yellow  ray  poured  full  into  the  hideous  maw.  The 
spider  relaxed  its  hold  and  Webster  tore  himself  free 
from  it. 


332 


5V  O N D E R 

“Quick,  Bill,  he’s  coming  again  1” 

At  Myra’s  call  he  scrambled  to  his  feet.  Not  daunted 
by  the  ray  the  spider  resumed  its  advance,  although 
more  cautiously.  Webster  took  the  tube  from  Myra  and 
stepped  forward  to  meet  it.  Again  the  ray  flashed  out 
and  once  more  the  spider  retreated. 

“Run  for  the  house,  Myra!”  he  called.  “I’ll  follow 
and  hold  this  fellow  at  bay.’’ 

Besieged ! 

He  backed  slowly  followed  by  the  hideous  monster. 

Again  and  again  he  flashed  his  ray  at  it  but  with 
each  attack  the  spider  heeded  the  ray  less.  He  had 
covered  half  the  distance  to  the  house  when  Myra’s 
voice  rang  out  behind  him  in  horror. 

“Run,  Bill,  run ! Here  comes  another  one !’’ 

He  glanced  around  and  saw  another  of  the  monsters 
crossing  the  ground  toward  them.  He  rushed  at  his 
first  enemy  and  thrust  the  tube  almost  into  its  mouth. 
The  shock  of  the  ray  threw  the  spider  back  and  Web- 
ster turned  and  ran  for  the  house.  Ahead  of  him  Myra 
fled  like  a deer.  A glance  over  his  shoulder  showed 
him  that  the  spider  was  following  slowly  as  if  in  pain 
but  across  the  grass  a dozen  more  were  racing  to  the 
fray. 

Webster’s  heart  pounded  as  he  approached  the  door. 
The  nearest  spider  was  as  close  to  it  as  he  was  and  was 
moving  faster.  Myra  was  already  inside  with  her  hand 
on  the  door  ready  to  slam  it  behind  him.  He  neglected 
his  pursuer  and  concentrated  on  his  new  foe.  The  new- 
comer saw  its  prey  about  to  escape  and  launched  itself 
through  the  air  in  a twenty  foot  leap.  Webster  checked 
his  advance  long  enough  to  let  it  pass  in  front  of  him 
and  hurled  his  tube  at  it.  His  aim  was  good  and  the 
spider  paused  for  a moment.  The  pause  spelled  safety 
for  Webster  for  Myra  slammed  the  door  behind  him 
just  as  the  spider’s  body  struck  it  with  a thud. 

“Thanks,”  he  gasped  as  he  helped  her  shoot  the  iron 
bar.  “You  pulled  me  out  of  a pretty  tight  hole.” 

“That  makes  us  quits,”  she  said  with  a tremulous 
laugh.  “You  did  the  same  for  me  once.” 

Again  she  swayed  toward  him  and  in  another  moment 
she  would  have  been  in  his  arms  but  the  voice  of  Dr. 
Collins  cut  in  on  them. 

“What’s  the  matter?”  he  asked. 

“We  were  attacked  by  the  spiders,”  explained  Web- 
ster. 

“Attacked?  Nonsense!  The  spiders  won’t  attack 
anything  that  isn’t  caught  in  their  webs.” 

“That’s  what  I thought  but  half  a dozen  of  the  new 
lot  crossed  the  open  and  attacked  us.  Doctor,  and  they 
meant  business.  If  Myra  hadn’t  run  to  the  house  and 
brought  me  a flash  tube,  I would  have  been  done  for. 
For  some  reason  the  tube  wasn’t  very  effective.” 
“Was  it  freshly  charged?” 

“I  charged  them  all  yesterday.” 

“Tlut’s  funny.  Our  batteries  must  be  weak.” 

“The  ray  came  out  in  good  volume  but  it  didn’f  stop 
the  spiders.” 

“I  don’t  understand  it.  Even  a slight  toucK  of  the  ray 
has  always  sent  them  scampering.” 

“Try  them  through  a window.  I fancy  they  are  still 
there.” 


STORIES 

Dr.  Collins  approached  bne  of  the  barred  windows 
and  swung  open  the  sash.  Outside  were  thirty  or  forty  of 
the  huge  spiders  ranging  about  the  house  and  crawling 
over  it.  The  Doctor  shot  the  ray  at  the  nearest  one  but 
the  spider  hesitated  only  a moment  and  then  advanced 
full  against  the  beam.  One  barbed  leg  reached  in 
through  the  bars  and  Dr.  Collins  sent  a ray  full  against 
it  at  a distance  of  a few  inches.  There  was  a curl  of 
smoke  and  the  leg  dropped  to  the  floor  where  it  twitched 
futilely  but  the  spider  did  not  retreat.  With  an  ex- 
clamation the  Doctor  thrust  out  his  arm  and  sent  ray 
full  into  the  gaping  mouth.  For  a moment  he  held  it 
there  and  the  spider  retreated  slowly  and  sullenly, 
writhing  in  torment.  Another  of  the  arthropods  tried  t^ 
grasp  the  Doctor’s  arm  as  he  drew  it  in. 

“Where  are  the  guns?”  asked  Webster. 

The  Doctor  hastened  out  of  the  room  and  came  back 
in  a few  moments  with  his  arms  full  of  weapons.  He 
handed  Web.ster  a rifle  and  took  another  himself.  The 
two  men  opened  fire  on  the  besiegers  without  apparent 
effect.  Webster  picked  out  one  of  the  largest  of  the 
attackers  and  fired  seven  shots  into  it  before  the  spider 
turned  and  ran  slowly  and  feebly  away. 

“Rifles  don’t  seem  to  be  much  good,”  he  commented, 
“Have  you  a shotgun?” 

A charge  of  birdshot  drove  one  of  the  attackers  back 
but  the  left  barrel  of  the  weapon  was  empty. 

“Give  me  some  shells,”  he  said. 

“I  don’t  believe  there  are  any  more,”  said  the  Doctor. 
“The  supply  ship  forgot  them  on  her  last  trip  and  I 
think  you  fired  the  last  one.  I think  we  have  plenty  of 
rifle  cartridges.” 

“They  aren’t  much  good.  See  if  you  can  find  some 
shells.” 

The  Doctor  went  in  search  of  ammunition  but  re- 
turned with  the  news  that  he  could  find  only  four, 
enough  to  load  each  barrel  of  the  two  guns. 

“We’d  better  save  those  for  emergencies,”  said  Web- 
ster as  he  thrust  them  into  his  pocket,  “and  it’s  a waste 
of  time  to  shoot  them  with  rifles.  We  have  plenty  of 
food  in  the  house  but  how  about  water  ?” 

“Enough  to  last  for  a week  with  care,”  reported 
Myra. 

“And  after  that,  drought,”  he  commented.  “Well, 
we  are  safe  for  the  present.  Let’s  hope  they  raise  the 
siege  before  long.” 

Raising  the  siege  was  the  last  thing  the  spiders 
showed  signs  of  doing.  They  prowled  over  the  house 
and  when  they  found  no  entrance  they  began  spinning 
webs  over  the  doors  and  windows  and  every  other  open- 
ing through  which  the  odor  of  life  could  reach  them. 
In  an  hour  every  opening  was  securely  guarded  by  a 
web,  in  the  center  of  which  hung  one  of  the  grisly  mon- 
sters, waiting  patiently  for  its  prey. 

Further  experiments  with  the  flash  tubes  proved  use- 
less and  Dr.  Collins  went  into  the  laboratory  and  began 
to  make  some  modifications  in  his  hookup.  Webster 
joined  him  and  he  explained  that  he  meant  to  construct 
a monster  tube  and  turn  the  force  of  his  whole  bank  of 
batteries  through  it. 

"It  will  blast  a hole  through  eighteen  inches  of  steel 
when  I get  it  connected,”  he  said.  “I  think  it  will  de- 
stroy them  quickly.” 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  SPIDER  ISLAND 


333 


CHAPTER  IV 
Pursued ! 

He  was  still  at  his  task  when  dusk  fell.  The  num- 
ber of  besiegers  had  not  lessened  but  had  in- 
creased enormously.  From  all  sides  came  the 
monsters.  Webster  had  never  penetrated  deeply  into 
the  jungle  and  he  was  astounded  at  the  size  of  some  of 
the  newcomers.  Some  of  them  measured  a full  yard 
across  and  the  webs  they  spun  looked  as  if  they  were 
made  of  half  inch  rope. 

The  Doctor  gave  over  his  experiments  at  last  and  he 
and  Webster  joined  Myra  in  the  living  room.  A flash 
light  sent  out  of  the  windows  reflected  back  from  hun- 
dreds of  hungry  eyes  and  they  knew  that  the  spiders 
were  waiting — waiting — waiting  for  the  fateful  moment 
when  something  would  drive  their  prey  into  their  grasp. 

“I’m  frightened.  Daddy,”  cried  Myra.  “What  is  going 
to  happen  to  us?” 

“I  don’t  know,  my  dear,”  he  said  gently,  “nor  can  i 
explain  the  attack.  The  spiders  have  always  been  timid 
and  a touch  of  the  ray  scared  them  away.” 

“Perh..^  ,.,their  food  supply  has  given  out,”  said  Web- 
ster suddenly.  “We  have  increased  the  number  greatly 
and  have  provided  no  increase  of  food.” 

“That  is  probably  it,”  said  the  Doctor.  “If  we  had 
foreseen  this,  it  would  have  been  a simple  matter  to 
have  treated  a few  hundreds  of  flies  and  turned  them 
loose.” 

“What  is  that?”  interrupted  Myra. 

They  listened.  From  the  distance  came  the  full  boom 
of  the  war  drums  of  Tonga  but  mixed  with  the  throb- 
bing came  a bray  of  horns. 

“Oh,  it’s  just  Tonga  making  his  monthly  demonstra- 
tion,” laughed  Webster.  “It  doesn’t  mean  anything.” 
“Daddy,  what  month  is  this  ?”  demanded  Myra. 
“August.” 

“He  has  made  an  attack  each  August  we  have  been 
here.” 

“So  he  has,  but  I don’t  think  he  will  try  it  this  year, 
my  dear.  I don’t  care  much  whether  he  does  or  not,  in 
point  of  fact.  The  webs  are  over  the  paths  and  he 
wouldn’t  get  far  toward  us.  I think  we  can  go  to  bed 
safely.  The  spiders  can’t  get  in  and  Tonga  can’t  get 
near  us,  so  we  have  nothing  to  worry  about.” 

Webster  lay  awake  for  hours  listening  to  the  dis- 
tant drumming  and  the  bray  of  the  horns.  The  horns 
were  a new  addition  to -Tonga’s  noise  and  it  seemed 
to  him  that  the  drums  had  a deeper  and  more  vibrant 
note  than  he  had  ever  noticed  before  and  it  kept  up 
longer.  Always  midnight  had  seen  the  end  of  the 
serenade  but  tonight  it  was  still  sounding  at  three 
o’clock.  Webster  dropped  off  to  sleep  and  dreamed 
that  the  head  hunters  had  landed  and  were  attacking 
the  house.  He  shot  the  first  four  of  them  but  the  rest 
broke  in  somehow  and  they  seized  Myra.  She  screamed 
for  help  as  they  carried  her  away  and  he  awoke  with 
her  scream  ringing  in  his  ears.  He  rubbed  his  eyes 
and  then  bounded  to  his  feet  as  a scream  of  agony 
came  from  a distance.  He  rushed  into  the  living  room 
at  the  same  instant  that  Myra  entered  and  they  looked 
at  one  another  with  blanched  faces. 

“Where  is  Daddy?”  she  gasped. 

“I’m  here,”  cried  the  Doctor  as  he  entered.  “What 


is  that  scre2uning?” 

With  one  accord  they  hastened  to  the  window. 
Day  had  broken  and  the  vistas  of  the  clearing  lay  open 
before  them.  At  the  far  edge  were  a band  of  black 
warriors  armed  with  spears  and  shields.  In  one  hand 
each  warrior  carried  a flaming  torch. 

“They  have  burned  their  way  through  the  webs,” 
cried  the  Doctor.  “Quick,  Webster,  the  rifles!” 

Webster  grasped  a rifle  but  as  he  did  so  a long 
drawn  out  scream  of  fear  and  agony  came  from  the 
edge  of  the  clearing.  One  of  the  warriors  was  down 
and  on  top  of  him  was  a hairy  body.  The  other  blacks 
danced  around  and  hurled  spears  and  shouted. 

“Look!”  cried  Myra,  “The  spiders  are  attacking!” 

Across  the  clearing  raced  their  besiegers  in  long 
stealthy  leaps.  One  after  another  they  abandoned  the 
webs  they  had  constructed  and  advanced  toward  the 
edge  of  the  glade  where  their  nostrils  told  them  that 
food  awaited  them.  In  a moment  the  house  was 
deserted. 

“Now  is  our  chance!”  cried  Webster.  “They  have 
left  us  unguarded  and  we  can  make  the  boat.  Bring 
flash  tubes  and  the  shotguns.  Never  mind  anything 
else!” 

His  enthusiasm  carried  them  with  him  and  they 
rushed  to  the  back  door  together.  An  enormous  web 
was  constructed  over  it  and  their  united  strength  failed 
to  break  the  strands  which  held  it  shut. 

“A  window  then!”  cried  Webster. 

He  swung  open  one  of  the  barred  gratings  and  with 
his  flash  tube  burned  away  the  web  which  blocked  it. 
Followed  by  Myra  and  the  Doctor,  he  climbed  out. 
They  paus^  and  glanced  back  across  the  clearing. 
Dozens  of  the  warriors  were  down  and  a hideous  feast 
was  in  progress.  It  was  too  far  away  for  the  details 
to  be  clear  but  it  was  evident  that  the  spiders  were 
spinning  webs  about  their  victims  for  some  of  them, 
enshrouded  in  webs,  were  being  lifted  into  trees  by 
the  arachnids,  to  be  finished  oflF  at  leisure. 

Toward  the  boat  the  trio  'raced,  Webster  in  the  rear. 
At  the  edge  of  the  clearing  they  paused  and  while 
Myra  kept  watch  to  the  rear,  Webster  and  the  Doctor 
began  cutting  a way  through  the  webs  which  blocked 
the  path.  The  Doctor  was  panting  with  loud  gasps 
from  the  run  and  Webster  looked  at  him  anxiously. 

For  a time  they  made  slow  progress  but  as  they  got 
further  from  the  clearing  the  webs  became  less  thick 
and  they  made  better  time.  Myra  suddenly  gave  a 
cry  of  alarm. 

“What  is  it,  Myra?”  asked  Webster, 

“They’re  coming  after  us!”  she  cried. 

He  ran  back  and  followed  the  direction  of  Her  gaze. 
A dozen  of  the  huge  spiders  were  coming  down  the 
cleared  trail  after  them. 

“Smash  through  the  webs  some  way.  Doctor!”  he 
cried.  “They’ll  be  on  us  in  a minute.” 

Desperate  Moments 

Dr.  COLLINS  joined  them  and  looked  at  the  ad- 
vancing spiders.  He  turned  and  handed  his  tube 
to  Myra. 

“There  are  only  a half  dozen  webs  blocking  the  way, 
Myra,”  he  said.  “You  clear  them  while  Webster  and 
I hold  these  fellows  back.” 

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NEWING  their  acquaintance  with  the 
University  of  Chicago,  Buck  Holt  and  his 
room-mate,  Darwin  Ellis,  strolled  the  side- 
walk outside  of  Stagg  Field.  Rounding 
the  corner,  they  were  just  in  time  to  see 
some  swift  drama. 

Two  armored  trucks,  bristling  with  machine  guns, 
and  with  a light  field  gun  mounted  in  a turret  on  top, 


came  to  a nicely  determined  halt  beside  an  old  man 
abstractedly  ambling  along  in  the  early  fall  sunshine. 

The  armored  doors  opened  and  half  a dozen  men, 
wearing  the  uniform  of  the  super-gangster,  Felix 
Spumelli,  filed  out  with  military  precision.  Without 
difficulty  they  surrounded  the  surprised  old  man,  and 
bore  him,  hardly  resisting,  to  the  rear  car. 

Up  the  street  there  was  a shout.  A policeman,  car- 


THE  KING  OF  THE  BLACK  BOWL 


VERY  few  good  stories  have  been  constructed  on  the  new  theories  of  Ein- 
stein with  regard  to  time,  space  and  matter.  The  reason  is  that  the  subjects 
are  deep  and  complicated  and  not  easy  of  explanation  and  a writer  attempt- 
ing a story  would  usually  give  up  in  disgust  the  e£fort  to  make  it  dramatic. 

Mr.  Starzl,  however,  has  made  a most  thrilling  story  from  an  abstruse 
subject.  How  he  did  it  we  have  no  means  of  knowing  except  that  it 
must  have  been  a sheer  flash  of  inspiration. 

Suppose  the  space  around  us  could  be  suspended  and  made  into 
nothingness.  Then  we  would  find  ourselves  trapped  by  a surround- 
ing wall  of  nothingness  from  which  we  could  not  escape. 

Suppose  further  that  by  some  malevolent  power  an  entire  city 
or  a nation  in  fact  were  covered  and  walled  by  such  a black 
bowl  of  nothingness.  Even  though  that  wall  be  infini- 
tesimally thin,  it  would  resist  ail  manner  of  penetration, 
nothing  could  go  through  it.  Here  dien  is  the  theme 
of  this  most  unusual  story — a story  of  dynamic  ad- 
venture, heroism,  greed  and  the  lusting  for  power. 


336 


WONDER 


STORIES 


hair  stood  ludicrously  on  end.  “Hey  Buck,  my  old 
physics  prof !” 

But  Buck  had  not  waited  to  talk.  Without  hesitation 
he  plunged  straight  at  the  uniformed  knot  with  the 
professor  at  its  center.  A gun  pivoted  and  sights 
swung  into  line,  but  the  gun  didn’t  fire.  Inside  the 
first  car  a small,  dark  man,  with  a tiny  black  mustache 
under  flaring,  aquiline  nostrils,  who  was  directing  the 
affair  through  a microphone  and  amplifier,  spoke  the 
quiet  words: 

“Don’t  shoot.  Let ’em  mix!” 

That  man  was  Spumelli  himself,  who  had  come  to 
direct  this  most  important  expedition  in  person.  With 
keen  interest  he  watched. 

It  was  a beautiful  scrimmage  to  delight  any  foot- 
ball fan’s  heart.  Buck’s  two  hundred  pounds  of  sheer 
combativeness  struck  the  disciplined  co-ordination  of 
the  soldiers.  Two  of  them  hustled  the  professor  into 
the  rear  car.  Four  met  the  athlete’s  charge.  There 
was  the  impact  of  hard  muscles  on  hard  muscles,  the 
crepitation  of  crackling  ribs.  It  was  a struggle  of 
trained,  efficient  fighters.  Buck  was  like  a maddened 
bear,  but  Spumelli’s  small  quick  men 
were  wild-cats,  and  it  was  a bear-cat 
fight.  Pulled  down  at  last  by  his 
snarling,  biting  opponents.  Buck  be- 
gan using  his  knees  and  elbows  sys- 
tematically. There  is  a lot  of  stop- 
ping power  in  a well-placed  elbow. 

He  drove  his  knee  into  a groin  and 
was  gratified  to  hear  a strangled 
curse  and  feel  the  lessening  of  the 
weight.  With  a vicious  side-wise 
swing  of  his  hard  head  he  reached  a 
jaw  and  another  man  went  limp, 
rhumbs  were  digging  at  Buck’s  eye 
corners.  He  found  the  throat  that 
went  with  the  thumbs  and  squeezed 
blissfully.  Things  looked  good. 

Then  more  figures  detached  them- 
selves from  the  truck.  A tube  about 
three  feet  long,  with  a bulb  at  the  other  end,  was  held 
near  Buck’s  face.  He  seemed  suddenly  overcome  with 
weakness.  No  longer  resisting,  he  was  saved  from 
mayhem  by  the  peremptory  order  of  the  master 
gangster. 

They  let  him  get  to  his  unsteady  feet  and  led  him 
to  Spumelli’s  car.  A panel  slid  open,  and  Spumelli’s 
keen  face,  lighted  briefly  by  a white-toothed  smile,  was 
thrust  out. 

“Would  have  cost  me  fifteen  bucks  to  see  half  as 
good  as  that  from  a grandstand,”  he  applauded. 

Buck  stared  at  him  belligerently.  “Too  yellow  to 
come  out  and  take  a few  yourself,  eh?”  he  growled. 

Spumelli,  not  offended,  smiled.  “And  why,”  he 
asked,  “should  the  real  boss  of  Chicago  mix  in  a brawl, 
even  with  the  greatest  half-back  of  the  age?” 

“Huh !”  Buck  grunted.  “How  come  you  cock-eyed 
crooks  are  getting  so  choosey  ? When  I was  a kid  they 
used  to  throw  the  racketeers  into  the  same  bull-pen 
with  plain  hobos,  and  no  social  complaint  heard.  That’s 
history.” 

“History,”  Spumelli  smiled,  “as  some  great  man  once 


said,  is  the  bunk.  This  is  1935,  and  history  has  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  And  speaking  of  racketeers,  if  you  read 
the  papers  you  ought  to  know  there  is  now  only  one 
Racketeer,  spelle(?''with  a cap  R,  and  he’s  yours  truly. 
You  know  I have  public  recognition  for  keeping  the' 
small  fry  out.  I have  my  own  police  who  are,  as  you 

might  say,  semi-official,  and ” 

“Yes,  I know,”  the  still  truculent  Buck  interrupted. 
“You’ve  got  ’em  buffaloed.  With  your  crooked  poli- 
ticians, your  murder  rings,  your  knock-off  gangs,  you’re 

getting  by  with  a lot.  Well ” 

“You  phrase  it  rather  harshly.  Of  course  I have 
my  departments  of  politics,  of  finance,  of  defense, 
of — shall  we  say,  refreshments,  and  so  on.  And  now — 
this  may  interest  your  friend  back  of  that  wall,  who  is 
waiting  to  get  a shot  at  me — I’m  going  to  have  a depart- 
ment of  science  with  your  Professor  Dawkelson  at  the 
head.  Sort  of  a hobby  of  mine — science,  and  I need 
his  help.  Seems  rather  unwilling  now,  judging  by  the  - 
noise,  ljut  he’ll  come — he’ll  come.” 

The  panel  slid  shut.  Buck,  released,  heard  steel 
doors  clang,  motors  jump  into  life.  The  field-gun 
barked  again,  and  a section  of  a stone 
retaining  wall  flew  into  dust.  But 
Darwin  Ellis  had  seen  the  muzzle 
swinging  his  way  and  dropped  down 
just  in  time,  clutching  the  shot-gun 
he’d  borrowed  at  a nearby  drugstore 
during  the  fight.  Buck  found  him 
crouching,  still  holding  the  gun  over 
his  head  to  break  the  fall  of  small 
stones.  His  studious  face  was 
scratched  and  bloody.  His  glasses 
had  dropped  off,  revealing  a murder- 
ous glare  in  his  usually  mild  blue 
eyes. 

“The  blank!  Blank!  Blank! 
Blank!”  he  remarked  unprintably. 

A crowd  was  gathering.  Co-eds 
and  collegiate  young  men  were  hur- 
rying from  all  directions.  A clanging 
ambulance  stopped  at  the  other  corner  and  made  away 
with  its  grisly  load.  An  armored  police  car  forced  its 
way  through  the  mob  and  a gray-haired  sergeant  took 
notes  in  a book.  “Got  O’Halloran,  eh?”  there  was 
helpless  anger  in  his  voice.  “One  of  these  days  I’ll  bust 
loose  and  take  a squad  of  volunteers  after  this  Spumelli. 
Nothing  I’d  like  better  than  to  ram  a grenade  down  his 
throat.” 

“Yeah?”  queried  a blase  reporter.  “You  and  who 
else?  I suppose  you  knew  his  real  hang-out  from  the 
dummy  ones?” 

“Just  an  easy  choice  between  suicide  or  losing  your 
job,”  one  of  the  other  officers  agreed  cynically. 

A City  IsolatedT 

Buck  and  his  friend  went  back  to  their  quarters. 

As  they  dressed  their  various  injuries,  they  dis- 
cussed the  possible  motives  of  the  gang  lord  in  kid- 
napping the  professor. 

“Ransom?” 

“Hardly,”  Ellis  negatived.  “The  old  boy  hasn’t  any 


R.  F.  STARZL 


THE  KING  OF  THE  BLACK  BOWL 


337 


family,  and  he  hasn’t  any  money  either — spends  all 
hie  makes  on  his  experiments.  Of  course  the  university 
might  pay  a ransom,  but  hardly  asything  that’d  look 
like  real  money  to  Spumelli.” 

Buck  suggested,  “Spumelli  said  something  about  hav- 
ing him  to  direct  his  science  department.  D’you  sup- 
pose he  read  something  in  the  papers  about  the  pro- 
fessor’s new  discovery?’’ 

Ellis  pondered.  “You  mean  about  Space  being  an 
actual  form  of  matter,  and  his  machine  for  splitting 
Space  so  that  it  is  separated  by  an  impenetrable  wall 
of  Nothing,  really  nothing?" 

“Whatever  it  was.  Seems  queer  to  say  that  Space 
is  Something,  instead  of  Nothing.  Kinda  deep,  that.’’ 
“Well,  it  may  be  deep,  but  it’s  true.  How  could 
Nothing  have  properties?  And  Einstein  has  shown 

that  Space  has  properties.  Now,  you  see ” 

“Never  mind!  Never  mind!’’  Buck  said  hastily. 
“You  say  the  professor  has  a machine  to  separate  ad- 
jacent sections  of  Space  with  thin  walls  of  Nothing. 
Did  you  ever  see  the  machine?’' 

“Yes.  And  I know  Spumelli’ll  never  get  the  secret. 
Dawkelson’ll  never  tell.” 

“He’ll  tell,  if  he’s  hurt  badly  enough,”  was  Buck’s 
grim  prediction. 

Three  weeks  passed,  during  which  the  famous  pro- 
fessor’s kidnapping  was  successively  relegated  to  page  2, 
to  6,  to  18,  to  36.  And  then  it  was  entirely  crowded 
out  by  news  so  astounding,  so  utterly  incredible,  that 
people  could  hardly  believe  the  printed  word,  reinforced 
though  it  was  by  their  own  senses.  On  the  second 
day,  the  Daily  News  said : 

The  commission  of  scientists  and  engineers  appointed 
yesterday  by  Mayor  Culworthy  to  investigate  the  bowl  of 
unknown  black  material,  which  suddenly  appeared  at  6 
o’clock  yesterday  morning,  reported  at  noon  today.  The 
bowl  is  about  five  miles  in  height.  It  extends  a mile  out 
into  Lake  Michigan,  follows  the  city  limits  approximately, 
and  goes  down  into  the  ground  to  an  unknown  depth,  for 
all  tunnels,  underground  cables  and  the  like  have  been  cut 
off  cleanly.  Curiously  enough,  the  material  seems  to  be 
porous  to  water  along  established  courses  but  not  anywhere 
else,  indicating  that  it  is  the  artificial  creation  of  an  intelli- 
gence of  high  order.  Thus  sewerage  and  drinking  water 
movements  are  not  interfered  with,  but  an  attempt  by  a 
diver  to  walk  out  under  the  surface  of  the  Chicago  Sanitary 
and  Ship  canal  met  with  utter  failure,  though  the  water 
flows  freely.  The  air  supply  also  seems  unaffected. 

All  attempts  to  communicate  with  the  outer  world  have 
failed.  Trains,  automobiles  and  airplanes  are  stopped  by 
this  shell,  which  is  infinitely  hard,  infinitely  inflexible. 
The  finest  diamond  points  are  dulled.  Rifle  bullets  and 
artillery  shells  are  utterly  unable  to  penetrate.  Even  a 
pure  cathode  stream  at  150,000  miles  a second,  obtained 
from  commercial  Coolidge  tubes,  is  reflected  perfectly. 
The  almost  invincible  gamma  rays  of  radium  are  equally 
unable  to  penetrate  in  the  least,  and  electroscopic  tests 
have  shown  that  even  the  wonderful  cosmic  rays,  which  can 
pass  through  18  feet  of  lead,  cannot  penetrate  Chicago’s 
prison ! 

Naturally  such  a material  will  not  permit  the  passage  of 
etheric  waves,  and  as  a result  Chicago  has  been  totally  cut 
off  from  radio  communication.  No  sunlight  can  pass,  and 
the  city  is  in  total  darkness  except  for  artificial  illumination, 
which  the  generating  plants  within  the  city  can  supply. 
Yet  the  gravest  consequences  are  certain  as  soon  as  the 
city’s  limited  stores  of  food  and  fuel  are  exhausted. 


The  newspaper  reports  did  not  state  the  half  of  it. 
They  did  not  report  the  sporadic  riots,  the  waves  of 
blind  panic  which  swept  this  and  that  part  of  the  city. 
An  unheard  of  thing — ^this  news  suppression,  and  the 
best  indication,  perhaps,  of  the  feeling  of  stealthy,  un- 
escapable  menace  which  weighed  on  every  mind. 

The  really  significant  development  came  that  evening. 
As  thousands  were  hopefully  tuning  their  radios,  the 
local  stations  were  blotted  out  by  a powerful,  non- 
directional  wave  which  blanketed  everything.  A well- 
modulated,  cultured  voice  spoke,  and  it  held  an  obvious 
note  of  elation: 

“People  of  Chicago!  I am  King  Spumelli — Felix 
the  First.  I hold  that  title  by  virtue  of  my  strength, 
and  there  is  none  who  can  take  it  from  me.  I have 
learned  the  secrets  of  Space  from  Professor  Dawkel- 
son,  and  as  you  well  know,  there  is  nothing  you  can 
do  about  it.  The  prison  which  I have  electrically  thrown 
over  you,  will  resist  the  efforts  of  the  entire  world  to 
breach.  Outside,  the  United  States  is  wasting  its  heavi- 
est artillery  against  it,  and  you  didn’t  even  know  it. 
There’s  no  use  trying.  Since  Matter  is  only  a mani- 
festation of  Space,  no  matter  can  pass  through  where 
Space  is  not.  The  shell  which  I have  thrown  over  you 
displaces  only  as  much  Space  as  would  be  occupied 
by  a thin  bubble.  Being  Nothing,  it  has  no  thickness. 
Being  Nothing,  it  might  be  infinitely  thick,  for  all  the 
difference  it  would  make. 

“But  don’t  get  excited.  I will  be  a benevolent  despot. 
I will  not  let  you  die.  When  you  recognize  my  king- 
ship  I will  give  you  sunlight.  I will  give  you  food. 
I will  permit  resumption  of  commerce.  Eventually  I 
will  remove  the  barriers  entirely.  But  don’t  forget— 
they  will  always  be  ready  to  put  back.  You  will  now 
hear  my  Minister  of  Science.” 

Came  then  the  sad,  weary  voice  of  Professor 
Dawkelson : 

“He’s  telling  the  truth,”  he  said.  The  barest  hesi- 
tation— “His  Majesty  tortured  the  secret  out  of  me. 
I’m  a prisoner  till  I die — soon — ” 

With  tense,  pale  faces  Holt  and  'Ellis  heard  these 
words  over  their  apartment  radio. 

“Just  as  I thought !”  Ellis  burst  out  savagely.  “Spu- 
melli has  the  secret  of  the  space  machine.  We’re 
caught.” 

“But  don’t  you  have  any  idea  of  how  it’s  done  ?” 

“Dawkelson  didn’t  tell  anybody.  He  seemed  to  realize 
the  danger,  and  he  was  withholding  the  details  until 
he  could  devise  a counteracter.  Of  course  he  gave 
demonstrations.  Spumelli  evidently  read  about  them — 
perhaps  even  saw  one.” 

“Have  to  give  Spumelli  credit.  He  certainly  does 
things  in  a big  way,”  Holt  said  with  grudging  admira- 
tion. “This  will  quiet  the  people  down,  and  in  a week 
or  two  they’ll  all  be  hollering  for  a chance  to  kiss  Spu- 
melli’s  royal  feet.” 

“They  will  not!" 

Holt  looked  at  his  diminutive  friend  amusedly.  “Aw, 
what  do  you  care  ?”  he  asked.  “This  ain’t  your  home 
town.” 

“Professor  Dawkelson  was  my  friend,”  Ellis  said. 
“This  King  Spumelli’s  going  to  find  out  he’s  bitten  off 
more  than  he  can  chew !” 


338 


WONDER 

“Well,  we-e-ll!  Dog-gone!”  the  big  man  said  with 
real  admiration.  “You  mean  you’re  going  to  tackle 
him?” 

Ellis  nodded. 

Holt  looked  at  him  thoughtfully.  “Well,”  he  sighed, 
“the  good  are  supposed  to  die  young,  but  it’ll  be  grand 
exercise.  When  do  we  start — and  how?” 

CHAPTER  II 

A Daring  Plan 

The  next  morning  failed  to  dawn,  as  usual,  and 
there  was  nothing  to  indicate  that  a new  day  had 
come.  Artificial  lights  continued  to  burn.  All 
business,  except  in  foodstuffs,  was  practically  at  a stand- 
still. People  passed  one  another  furtively,  and  a ter- 
rible feeling  of  depression  lay  over  the  city. 

King  Spumelli  had  sent  out  his  army,  rather  tenta- 
tively at  first,  and  met  with  nothing  that  could  seriously 
be  called  resistance.  His  first  act  was  to  take  over  the 
police  stations.  His  representatives,  many  still  awk- 
ward in  their  new  olive  drab  uniforms,  which  resembled 
somewhat  the  British  army  uniforms  of  1914,  appeared 
at  the  telephone  exchanges.  In  like  manner  men  who 
knew  what  they  were  about  appeared  suddenly  at  power 
houses  and  substations  to  take  charge.  The  Federal 
Reserve  bank,  in  the  loop,  was  seized  and  the  work  of 
transferring  funds  from  all  financial  institutions  in  the 
city  to  the  massive  vaults  of  that  building  was  begun. 
Not  until  then  was  it  realized  what  minute  preparations 
Spumelli  had  made.  His  army  consisted  of  over  10,000 
men,  all  previously  selected  and  trained,  although  none 
had  known  for  what  purpose.  They  had  been  helped 
to  paying  positions  to  maintain  them  until  Spumelli’s 
slowly  maturing  plans,  which  culminated  in  the  pro- 
fessor’s abduction,  called  for  them. 

There  were  some  setbacks,  after  the  surprise  wore 
off  a little.  On  the  first  day  following  the  proclamation, 
about  eighty  members  of  the  Chicago  police  force  lost 
their  lives  in  widely  separated  battles  with  the  Spumelli 
troops,  and  according  to  the  most  reliable  reports,  about 
700  civilians  were  killed.  Several  companies  of  Illinois 
National  Guards,  and  a number  of  U.  S.  army  men  on 
detached  duty  lost  their  lives.  A large  proportion  of  the 
police  promptly  donned  Spumelli’s  uniform  and  ren- 
dered effective  service. 

This  was  the  situation  confronting  Holt  and  Ellis. 
They  talked  it  over,  sitting  at  a soda  counter,  as  they 
consiuned  thin  dispirited  slices  of  cold  apple  pie. 

“All  we  have  to  do,”  Buck  summed  it  up,  “is  to  find 
out,  where  in,  this  city,  which  is  about  25  miles  from 
north  to  south  and  14  miles  from  east  to  west,  this  here 
‘king’  hangs  out.  The  next  thing  is  to  bust  through 
about  six  hundred  guards,  a few  barrages  of  grenades 
and  poison  gas,  and  a row  of  tough  eggs  who  won’t  get 
any  breakfast  till  they  bite  it  out  of  our  necks.  Beauti- 
fully simple!” 

“If  you’re  afraid,”  Ellis  suggested  coldly,  “you  don’t 
have  to  come  with  me.” 

Buck  grinned.  “Oh,  I’m  just  going  with  you  to  bring 
home  the  pieces.” 

“The  plan,”^  Ellis  explained,  “is  to  follow  one  of 


STORIES 

Spumelli’s  officers  till  we  find  out  where  he  gets  his 
orders.  That  will  give  us  an  indication  ot  where 
Spumelli  is.” 

“Yeah.  Of  course  Spumelli  couldn’t  use  the  phone, 
having  all  the  exchanges !” 

“Sure.  Of  course  I don’t  expect  our  man  to  lead  us 
direct  to  the  ‘king.’  But  sooner  or  later  he’ll  go  where 
there  are  others  of  his  sort,  and  from  their  conversation 
yre’ll  be  able  to  find  out  where  Spumelli  is.” 

“I  see,”  Buck  said  sarcastically.  “All  we  do  is  walk 
into  their  district  headquarters,  when  and  if  we  find 
’em,  and  sit  down.  They’ll  tell  us  all  their  secrets. 
Of  course!” 

The  young  science  student  looked  at  his  friend  gently, 
sorrowfully.  “Buck,”  he  murmured,  “I’ve  often  sus- 
pected that  you  got  famous  because  of  the  thickness  of 
your  skull  rather  than  because  of  the  contents  thereof. 
No,  I don’t  expect  to  get  invited  into  their  parlor,  but 
as  soon  as  we  find  out  where  said  parlor  is,  I’ve  got 
a little  invention  that  may  work  if  nothing  else  will.” 

As  they  stepped  into  State  Street  they  almost  collided 
with  the  smartly  turned-out  figure  of  a hurrying  Spu- 
melli colonel.  He  glared  at  them  and  his  hand  strayed 
to  the  pistol  at  his  side. 

“Oh,  we  beg  your  pardon !”  Ellis  exclaimed  humbly. 

Buck  ejaculated,  “Say — ” but  Ellis  jabbed  him  vi- 
ciously with  his  elbow. 

“Say  ‘sir’  when  you  speak  to  an  officer  of  the  King !” 
the  colonel  snapped. 

“We  beg  the  colonel’s  pardon,  sir!”  Ellis  amended. 
The  officer  walked  on. 

“You  sap!”  Ellis  hissed  to  Buck,  “he’s  just  the  boy 
we  want  to  follow  and  you  try  to  pick  a fight  with  him  1” 

“I’d  like  to  wring  his  neck.  And  this  in  the  United 
States!” 

“Not  exactly  in  the  United  States.  Mathematically 
we  might  be  considered  infinitely  removed  from  the 
United  States,  the  very  universe  in  fact.  Almost  as  if 
we  were  in  the  fourth  dimension — ” 

“Well,  if  we’re  going  to  follow  him,  let’s  follow!” 
Buck  urged.  “Those  damned  streets  aren’t  any  too 
well-lighted.  What  I’d  give  for  a look  at  the  sun !” 

The  colonel  was  a good  walker.  Fortunately  for  his 
shadows.  State  Street,  usually  the  most  crowded  in 
Chicago,  was  practically  deserted.  Not  more  than  a 
dozen  or  two  pedestrians  were  in  sight,  though  it  was 
near  noon.  Street  cars,  running  on  schedule  by  order 
of  Spumelli,  were  nearly  empty,  and  the  streets  echoed 
hollowly  to  the  roar  of  the  I^ke  Street  “El”  as  it  thun- 
dered by  on  its  futile  rounds.  The  occasional  glare  of 
lights  from  show  windows  with  their  lifeless  displays 
only  added  to  the  sense  of  desolation. 

'The  colonel  was  a good  walker.  He  made  for  the  lift 
bridge  which  spans  the  Chicago  river  at  this  point.  Not 
for  two  days  had  the  bridge  been  opened,  for  the  ships 
were  all  blockaded  by  that  same  mysterious  black  wall 
which,  far  out  on  the  lake,  barred  all  traffic. 

A Bloody  Encounter 

ON  the  other  side  of  the  river,  he  turned  into  North 
Water  Street,  his  trailers  close  behind  him.  The 
officer  was  stopped  by  a sentry.  He  gave  the  counter- 
sign, talked  for  a minute  to  the  man.  The  soldier 


THE  KING  OF  THE  BLACK  BOWL 


339 


looked  back.  Buck  and  Ellis  slipped  unobtrusively  into 
a doorway. 

“Did  he  notice  us?’’ 

“We’ll  soon  know.  Say  your  prayers.’’ 

The  street  was  darker  here,  and  there  was  a chance 
they  had  not  been  seen.  In  a few  moments,  however, 
they  heard  footsteps.  Quickly  they  came  nearer — ^the 
sound  of  hob-nailed  boots  on  the  pavement. 

His  bayoneted  rifle  poised,  the  soldier  appeared  before 
the  doorway. 

“To  the  guardhouse  with  youse  birds !” 

“Hardly!’’  Buck  objected  mildly.  He  seized  the 
bayonet,  turned  it  aside,  so  that  the  soldier’s  quick  lunge 
carried  it  past  him.  Ellis  jumped  on  the  man’s  back. 

“I’ll  handle  him,”  Buck  said.  “Keep  an  eye  out  for 
the  colonel.” 

The  soldier  was  willing.  The  colonel  had  just  said 
some  disagreeable  things  to  him  and  he  was  anxious 
to  take  it  out  on  this  stranger.  Dropping  his  gun,  he 
plunged  into  the  rough-and-tumble  battle  enthusiastic- 
ally. Hearty  smacks  of  blows  well-aimed  echoed  hol- 
lowly from  the  blank  walls  of  warehouses.  A particu- 
larly good  one  caught  Buck  on  the  chin. 

“One,  two,  three — ■”  the  soldier  counted,  reaching  for 
his  handcuffs. 

“Oh,  hardly!”  Buck  objected  again,  scrambling  to  his 
feet.  Losing  no  momentum  whatever,  he  applied  every 
ounce  of  his  200  pounds  of  gristle  and  bone  to  hurling 
himself,  a human  battering  ram,  at  his  adversary.  Start- 
ing from  this  moving  mass,  backed  by  the  tremendous 
muscles  of  his  arm  and  shoulder,  he  flung  his  ten  pound 
fist  like  a shell  out  of  a cannon.  The  action  was  like 
the  snap  of  a whip,  muscles  still  flexed.  At  the  very 
moment  of  impact,  however,  all  his  muscles  hardened 
to  steel.  Irresistible  as  a locomotive  ploughing  into  an 
egg-crate,  he  struck  the  soldier  full  in  the  chest.  There 
was  a dull  boom,  a, muffled  crackling,  and  the  big  uni- 
formed figure  crashed  into  the  street,  lay  perfectly  still. 

“The  colonel  went  into  a storage  warehouse  a couple 
of  blocks  up,  near  the  lake,”  Darwin  Ellis  announced, 
reappearing. 

“Hit  this  fellow  pretty  hard.  Hope  I didn’t  kill  him,” 
Buck  remarked  with  a tinge  of  regret,  as  he  dragged  his 
victim  to  the  shadow  of  the  doorway. 

“What  of  it?  He  tried  to  stick  you,  didn’t  he?” 
“Well,  he  isn’t  dead.  Heart’s  beating,  though  pretty 
fluttery.  He’s  a tough  baby.  About  my  size  too.” 

“Say  Buck!  I’ve  got  an  idea!” 

“Shoot!” 

“Put  on  this  guy’s  uniform,  walk  up  to  district  head- 
quarters, if  that’s  what  it  is,  and  pretend  to  make  some 
kind  of  report.  And  while  you’re  there,  get  the  low- 
down  on  what  we  want.” 

“The  officer  of  the  guard  will  know  I’m  a fake.” 
“You  don’t  have  to  pretend  you’re  this  bird.  Just  any 
soldier  will  do.  You  put  on  this  uniform,  walk  up 
there,  and  say  you’ve  been  attacked  by  a northside  mob. 
Use  your  imagination.  Say  the  guards  at  Ravenswood 
have  been  overpowered  and  that  you  just  escaped. 
That’ll  start  ’em  buzzing.  Maybe  they’ll  call  Spumelli 
and  tell  him.  So  keep  your  ears  open.” 

“All  right.  I’ll  let  this  guy  finish  his  nap  in  my 
sweater  and  pants.  He  ripped  ’em  up  with  his  bayonet 


anyway.” 

“Yeah,  and  the  black  eye  he  gave  you  and  the  blood 
on  his  uniform  will  make  your  story  look  good.” 

The  exchange  made.  Buck  directed  his  friend  to  get 
back  to  their  apartment,  and  Ellis  began  to  regret  his 
hasty  suggestion.  Buck  insisted  on  making  the  attempt. 

“Go  on  home  and  work  on  your  patent  idea.  If  I 
don’t  get  the  info,  or  don’t  come  back,  it’s  up  to  you.” 

They  shook  hands.  Further  words,  just  then,  were 
superfluous. 

Ellis  went  home,  torturing  himself  with  harrowing 
thoughts  of  what  might  be  happening  to  his  co-con- 
spirator. Alone,  he  realized  for  the  first  time  the  pre- 
sumptiveness of  their  undertaking.  Without  help  of 
any  kind,  isolated  from  the  outside  world,  in  a city  of 
over  three  million  in  which  society  had  completely 
broken  down  to  be  replaced  by  the  organization  of  an 
unscrupulous  interloper  with  royal  ambitions — two  col- 
lege boys  stood  alone.  Those  for  whom  they  were 
fighting  were  divided,  intimidated,  discouraged.  Their 
enemies  were  organized,  powerful,  of  excellent  morale. 
They  were  in  control  of  the  law,  power  and  transporta- 
tion, of  finance,  of  life  itself. 

“If  the  world  ever  hears  of  us  at  all,”  he  thought, 
“we’re  just  a couple  of  rioters  executed  by  the  forces 
of  law  and  order.” 

Three  o’clock  came.  If  successful.  Buck  might  be 
back. 

Four  o’clock. 

Five  o’clock. 

Six  o’clock.  Outside  the  eternal  night  of  that  black 
bowl,  the  sun  would  be  getting  ready  to  set. 

At  six-thirty  there  was  a gentle  knock  on  the  door. 

Buck  staggered  in,  his  face  a mass  of  blood,  his  uni- 
form torn,  dirty,  dripping  soggily  pink  and  gray. 

“Get  busy!  Mop  up  in  the  hall,”  he  gasped.  “I 
snuck  in.  Nobody  saw  me.  Don’t  want  any  embarrass- 
ing questions.” 

Ellis  did  as  he  was  told.  It  wouldn’t  do  to  have  any 
of  the  other  tenants  start  talking.  Fortunately,  dull 
apathy  was  almost  universal.  No  one  seemed  to  care 
much  w'hat  happened. 

“Didn’t  make  it,”  Buck  reported  a few  minutes  later, 
soaking  his  bruises  in  a tubful  of  hot  water.  “I  went 
up  there  as  you  said.  Well,  this  was  just  another  ware- 
house-dead storage  warehouse,  such  as  you’ll  find 
dozens  of.  No  windows  for  a couple  of  hundred  feet 
up— all  blank  walls.  Maybe  a little  office  in  front  with 
a window  and  door,  alongside  the  big  steel  doors  used 
for  the  trucks.  Inside  there  are  a lot  of  fireproof  rooms 
where  you  can  store  anything,  cars,  household  goods, 
merchandise — ^anything  you  like.  Big  freight  elevators, 
of  course.  Not  much  to  see,  otherwise. 

“Well,  I went  up  there.  Couple  of  guards  at  the 
door.  When  they  saw  how  I looked  they  let  me  in  with- 
out argument.  I explained  to  the  corporal  what  I 
wanted.  He  conducted  me  to  the  roof.  It’s  a sort  of 
division  office  all  right.  A new  shack,  built  right  on  top 
of  the  roof,  where  they  can  overlook  most  of  the  river 
and  harbor.  Just  like  an  army  office — ^pine  tables,  files, 
typewriters  and  such  things.  And  some  occasional  high- 
priced  furniture,  looted  out  of  the  warehouse,  I sup- 
pose.” 


340 


WONDER 

An  Amazing  Story 

" A NY  way  to  get  up  on  the  roof  besides  the  way 

XjL  you  came?” 

“Nope.  Not  a chance.  This  warehouse  is  quite  a 
bit  higher  than  the  others,  and  anyway,  stands  all  alone, 
next  the  river.  You  couldn’t  even  see  the  shack  from 
the  street,  in  daylight.  No,  they’re  very  snug  up  there 
in  the  dark.  I give  you  credit  for  having  a good  hunch. 

“Well,  to  get  on  with  the  story.  I was  just  getting 
started  with  my  yam,  and  going  over  good  too,  when 
that  colonel  suddenly  got  up  and  said ; 

“‘Hold  him!  He’s  a spy!’ 

“Three  or  four  men  grabbed  me,  but  I didn’t  put  up 
a battle  just  then.  I said: 

“ ‘Colonel  sir,  if  you  don’t  believe  me  just  call  up  the 
Ravenswood  division  yourself.”  I was  sparring  for 
time,  of  course,  because  I knew  I was  sunk  the  minute 
they  really  called. 

“‘You  mean  the  Bowmanville  division,  don’t  you?’ 
the  colonel  says  sweetly. 

“ ‘Sure  r I agreed  promptly.  ‘Beg  pardon,  yes  sir. 
I meant  Bowmanville,  but  it’s  so  close  to  Ravenswood 
I got  mixed.’ 

“ ‘I  like  your  nerve  I’  says  the  colonel,  but  he  wasn’t 
quite  sure  of  himself,  so  he  told  the  adjutant  to  phone. 
Everybody  was  interested  in  that  call,  and  it  gave  me 
a chance  to  slip  an  automatic  out  of  the  nearest  holster. 
I held  it  under  the  nose  of  the  biggest  man  and  he 
stepped  right  back.  After  that  it  was  just  a matter  of  a 
little  knee  nad  elbow  work,  and  a little  shooting,  to 
break  away. 

“I  dashed  out  the  door  and  down  the  short  stairway 
to  the  elevator.  There  was  a man  on  guard,  but  I 
clubbed  him.  Hardly  had  I got  in  when  there  came  the 
pounding  of  feet  on  he  steps.  The  worst  of  it  was, 
I couldn’t  get  the  thing  started.  It  was  a different  kind 
from  the  ones  I’d  seen. 

“I  saw  they  were  going  to  get  me  so  I jumped  off 
and  grabbed  the  counterweight  cables.  They  were  nice 
and  greasy — ^very  slippery,  and  I went  down  at  a merry 
clip.  It’s  no  fun  to  side  down  two  hundred  feet  or 
more  like  that. 

“Pretty  near  the  bottom  there  was  a jerk  and  when  I 
■ hit  the  counterweight  it  was  coming  up.  They  had 
started  the  elevator  and  were  coming  after  me,  bring- 
ing the  counterweight  up,  me  with  it. 

“Well,  there  was  some  room,  about  12  inches  between 
the  reinforced  concrete  floor  members  which  formed 
the  counterweight  channel.  All  I had  to  do  was  to  stand 
straight  and  not  breathe,  and  maybe  I wouldn’t  get 
smashed.  Up  I went  again,  and  down  came  those  boys 
to  meet  me.  They  started  shooting,  but  the  light  was 
poor.  The  worst  I got  was  some  cement  chips  in  my 
face.  They  passed  me  between  floors,  so  couldn’t  shoot 
me  as  they  went  past.  I barely  had  time  to  hop  to  the 
roof  of  the  car  before  they  stopped,  but  they  couldn’t 
climb  out,  so  I had  ’em. 

“They  could  shoot  through  the  roof,  though,  and  I 
lost  no  time  getting  to  the  guide-rails  on  the  side.  This 
was  ticklish  business,  because  if  I slipped  it  was  good 
night ! And  the  rails  were  greasy.  But  I made  it,  slid 
down  like  a monkey  on  a pole,  just  managed  to  reach 


STORIES 

the  power  cable  underneath,  and  slid. 

“I  slid  fast,  landing  in  the  basement  while  they  were 
still  trying  to  locate  me.  But  some  of  the  other  guards 
got  hep  to  what  was  going  on,  and  swarmed  after  me, 
popping  at  me  with  their  automatics.  I thought  I was 
caught  when  they  followed  me  into  the  basement,  but 
in  the  nick  of  time  I located  an  automatic  sump  pump, 
designed  to  return  seepage  to  the  river.  There  was  a 
manhole  where  the  pipe  went  out.  It  was  a tight  fit, 
but  I made  it,  dropped  a few  feet  into  the  river  and 
swam  for  it.” 

“Say,  I’ll  bet  it  was  cold  1” 

“Cold  is  no  name  for  it.  I pretty  nearly  froze  stiff. 
Well,  you  know  the  river  flows  IN  from  the  lake,  rather 
than  out,  like  an  ordinary  river.  I had  to  swim  against 
the  current.  Everything  was  dark,  of  course,  except 
for  the  bridge  lights  and  so  on.  There  was  hardly  a, 
ripple  of  water.  I thought  I was  jake  when  suddenly 
a searchlight  opened  up  on  the  roof  and  swept  the 
river.  Back  and  forth  it  went,  sometimes  hardly  missing 
me  by  a yard.  I didn’t  dare  swim  fast  for  fear  of 
stirring  up  ripples  which  would  give  me  away. 

“Well,  pretty  soon  they  did  locate  me.  I knew  what 
was  next,  and  dived.  Just  in  time  too,  because  I could 
hear  the  phut-phut-phut  of  the  bullets  hitting  the  water. 
I swam  until  I thought  my  lungs’d  burst.  Finally,  when 
I was  so  dizzy  I couldn’t  swim  any  more  I came  up, 
grabbed  a lungful  of  air  and  went  down  again,  because 
they  were  still  looking  for  me. 

“Finally  I reached  one  of  the  new  concrete  piers 
back  of  the  breakwater.  They  seemed  to  think  they’d 
got  me,  because  they  stopped  searching.  Just  the  same 
I was  in  a tough  situation.  I wouldn’t  dare  to  show  up 
in  the  loop  or  anywhere  in  that  vicinity  because  I’d  be 
sure  to  be  picked  up.  Finally  I located  a small  row- 
boat, and  rowed  it  all  the  way  to  Jackson  park,  where 
I filled  it  with  sand  and  sank  it.  From  there  on  it  was 
just  a sneak  through  dark  streets  and  alleys.  None  of 
Spumelli’s  men  saw  me.  Probably  wouldn’t  be  looking 
for  me  down  here  anyway.” 

Ellis  stood  ready  with  a coarse  towel  as  his  friend 
climbed  out  of  the  tub,  and  avoided  the  most  extensively 
abraded  surfaces. 

“Quite  a nick  out  of  your  shoulder,”  he  remarked. 

“It’ll  heal,”  Buck  yawned.  “Wish  you’d  get  rid  of 
that  uniform,  just  in  case  this  place  is  searched.” 

“I’ll  burn  it  in  the  garbage  incinerator.  You  say 
there’s  no  way  to  get  near  headquarters — no  fire  escape 
— ^no  way  to  climb  up  from  the  outside?” 

“Nope.  And  you  couldn’t  look  in  with  a spy-glass 
from  some  other  building  either.  The  windows  are 
painted  black  on  the  inside.  No  information  for  us 
there,  my  laddie  1” 

Instead  of  being  depressed,  Ellis  smiled.  “Fine! 
An  ideal  test  for  my  telephotaudion.” 

“What?” 

“My  telephotaudion.  That  secret  shack  on  the  roof 
will  be  an  ideal  test.” 

“In  what  way,”  Buck  queried  with  gentle  acidity,  “do 
I get  my  neck  broken  this  time?” 

“It’s  perfectly  safe,”  was  the  abstracted  answer. 
“Get  some  sleep.  I have  to  put  the  finishing  touches  on 
my  apparatus.” 


341 


THE  KING  OF  THE  BLACK  BOWL 


CHAPTER  III 

An  Important  Conference 

People  were  getting  used  to  the  changeless  night 
of  Spumelli’s  kingdom.  Clocks  said  it  was  eight 
o’clock,  and  the  desolated  streets  were  showing  in- 
creasing activity.  One  had  to  eat,  and  wear  clothes, 
and  business  was  business. 

One  would  hardly  have  taken  Buck  and  Ellis  for  any- 
thing else  than  office  workers  on  the  way  to  their  jobs. 
If  the  earnest  young  man’s  brief  case  was  rather  bulky, 
it  caused  no  comment.  And  his  huge  companion  was 
obviously  carrying  a storage  battery  belonging  to  some- 
one’s car.  They  had  the  street-car  to  themselves,  and 
there  was  no  danger  that  their  low-voiced  conversation 
would  be  overheard. 

“You’ve  heard,’’  Darwin  explained,  “of  sending  sound 
over  light.  Very  simple.  The  sound  is  picked  up  by 
a microphone,  converted  into  electrical  impulses,  ampli- 
fied and  sent  into  a loudspeaker  magnet.  But  instead 
of  the  speaker  diaphragm  you  use  a mirror.  Let  a light 
fall  on  the  mirror,  which  reflects  a beam  of  light,  and 
as  it  vibrates  it  will  make  the  light  beam  wiggle.  Pick 
up  the  wiggling  light  with  a telephoto  lens,  and  you  have 
electrical  impulses  which  can  be  turned  into  sound 
again.” 

“I  see,”  Buck  nodded  drily.  “So  all  we  have  to  do 
is  to  get  a microphone  into  division  headquarters.  Ha ! 
Ha ! Excuse  me  while  I smile.” 

“Not  exactly,”  the  other  persisted  patiently.  “You 
see,  my  invention  is  different.  I don’t  use  a micro- 
phone. I direct  a very  fine  pencil  of  light  through  a 
special  spot-light,  at  one  of  their  windows.  It  doesn’t 
make  any  difference  if  they  are  painted  black  on  the 
inside.  Now  what  happens?” 

“All  right.  What  happens?” 

“Why,  when  anybody  inside  talks,  the  window  vi- 
brates, wiggling  the  light.” 

“Got  to  talk  pretty  loud  to  make  the  window  rattle.” 
“Isn’t  necessary  to  make  it  rattle.  Even  an  ordinary 
voice  will  make  it  vibrate  slightly.  That’s  enough  for 
my  purpose.  I simply  focus  a special  telescope  on  that 
spot,  put  my  telephoto  lens  where  the  eye-piece  would 
be,  and  presto,  I pick  up  what  is  being  said  inside  the 
^•oom  maybe  half  a mile  away !” 

Buck  stared  at  him,  and  Darwin  Ellis  felt  pleased, 
because  it  was  usually  he  who  paid  homage,  the  other 
who  received  it. 

Alighting  from  the  car,  they  had  a short  walk  to  the 
new  Commerce  block.  They  consulted  the  directory 
in  the  lobby. 

“Dr.  Jones,  on  the  Fourteenth.” 

“Dr.  Jones  hasn’t  come  in  yet,”  the  operator  said. 
“We’ll  wait.” 

“Lucky  break,  that,”  Buck  grinned  when  they  were 
alone  again.  “Gives  us  an  excuse  for  staying  quite 
awhile.” 

“Jones  is  probably  still  hiding  under  the  bed.  We 
can  go  to  the  north  fire-escape  through  this  hall.  Open 
and  close  the  door  fast,  so  the  light  won’t  attract  atten- 
tion." 

Perched  some  150  feet  over  the  river,  they  looked 


for  the  secret  roof  headquarters,  a difficult  project  in- 
deed, until  a momentarily  opened  door  located  it  for 
them.  Finding  one  of  the  dark-painted  windows  was 
not  so  easy,  but  presently  a twinkling  pin-point  reflec- 
tion rewarded  their  efforts. 

After  considerable  experiment  their  instruments  were 
in  working  order.  The  tiny  beam  of  light  used,  hardly 
more  than  a thread,  would  never  be  noticed  by  a casual 
observer. 

The  headphones  clamped  to  their  ears,  through  rum- 
bles, cracklings  and  other  strange  extraneous  noises,  they 
heard  voices; 

“ — so  I said  to  her,  ‘Girlie,  you  come  up  to  my  flat 
and  won’t  need  to  worry  about  missing  your  train. 
Nobody’s  going  to  catch  any  trains  out  of  here  for  a 
while.  Ha.  Well,  she  came.  Seems  to  like  it — ” 

A telephone  bell  rang.  “Chicago  Avenue  station  re- 
ports looting  of  delicatessen,  sir,”  said  a voice  after  a 
short  colloquy. 

“Send  a platoon,”  instructed  the  first  voice,  and  con- 
tinued with  its  amatory  account. 

An  hour  later  they  still  had  no  valuable  information. 
Suddenly  the  listeners  stiffened.  A new  call  was  com- 
ing in. 

“Listen  men!”  a voice  called.  “This  is  important.” 
“Yes  sir.  Yes  sir.  Colonel  Brookings,  sir.  I’ll  tell 
him,  sir.  He’s  to  report  at  the  Westloop  headquarters 
at  noon.  For  a conference  with  His  Majesty?  Yes 
sir.  I’ll  transmit  the  order  without  fail.” 

“Something’s  going  to  happen,  and  soon,”  another 
voice  volunteered.  “You  better  hunt  up  the  colonel 
right  away.”  There  was  the  sound  of  a door  slamming, 
chairs  scraping,  and  the  swing  of  the  conversation  into 
other  channels. 

On  their  airy  perch,  the  eavesdroppers  dismantled 
their  apparatus. 

“The  Westloop.  You  remember  any  such  place?” 
“Seems  I heard  of  a new  office  building  by  that  name. 
Don’t  believe  it’s  finished,  though.” 

They  left  the  building  and  checked  their  equipment  at 
another  place.  Once  again  unencumbered,  Ellis  ap- 
proached a traffic  officer,  who  was  having  a light  job  of 
it,  for  directions.  The  officer  was  tough  and  bulky,  and 
not  burdened  with  intelligence.  He  looked  at  them 
suspiciously  for  a moment. 

“Whatcha  want  to  know  for?”  he  growled. 
“Conference  at  noon,”  Ellis  responded  airily. 
“Where’s  yer  uniform?” 

“Secret  service,”  Holt  snapped.  “Hurry  up,  fella, 
unless  you  want  yourself  reported.” 

“Aw  keep  your  shirt  on.  Sure  I’ll  tell  ye  where  the 
Westloop  is,  but  it’s  dammed  funny  ye  don’t  know.” 
“Okay.” 

“It’s  across  the  river,  west,  beyant  the  Northwestern 
station.  Loop’s  crowding  out  that  way.” 

“Okay.”  They  left  the  Spumelli  officer  puzzled. 

It  wasn’t  a long  walk — about  a mile.  They  recog- 
nized the  towering  pyramidal  pile  the  moment  they  saw 
its  ghostly  gray  against  the  black  ”sky.”  Patently 
unfinished,  it  stood  aloof  from  the  older,  smaller  build- 
ings that  shouldered  it.  Its  summit  was  completely  hid- 
den in  darkness;  its  shadowy  base  illuminated  only 
casually. 


342 


WONDER  STORIES 


Close  Quarters 

JUST  an  ordinary  unfinished  construction  job.  But 
at  the  main  entrance,  the  only  one  not  boarded  up, 
loitered  a group  of  men.  By  their  clothes  one  would 
take  them  for  tramps.  By  their  alert  bearing  they  were 
certainly  not.  These  men  never  went  very  far  away 
from  something  that  was  covered  with  a tarpaulin, 
beneath  the  lower  edge  of  which  a tripod’s  feet  could 
be  seen.  A little  farther  back  was  another  such  object, 
suggesting  a shrouded  spider. 

The  first  time  they  walked  past  the  doorway  no  one 
said  anything. 

On  the  second  trip  back  one  of  the  men  accosted 
them  harshly: 

"On  your  way,  bozos.  Make  tracks !” 

Thereupon  Buck  laid  him  low.  Like  oiled  automatons 
the  others  sprang  into  position.  The  tarpaulins  came 
off,  revealing  new,  1935  model  .75  calibre  machine 
guns.  But  that  was  simply  routine,  for  quarters  were 
too  close  for  such  fighting.  There  was  the  spiteful 
snapping  of  automatics,  and  Buck  reeled,  crashed  to  the 
floor,  bringing  down  a couple  of  men  with  him. 

Ellis  was  being  forced  to  the  floor  by  his  antagonist. 
He  saw  Buck  go  down.  With  a jerk  he  dropped,  drag- 
ging the  other  man  over  his  head.  The  latter’s  own 
momentum  was  his  undoing,  rather  than  the  science 
student’s  strength,  and  his  head  crashed  against  the 
marble  wall  of  the  lobby.  Still  dizzy,  Ellis  felt  his 
fingers  scrape  a gun  on  the  floor.  He  snatched  it,  emp- 
tied it  wildly  at  the  men  who  were  coming  for  him, 
and  dashed  up  a long  corridor.  A single  bulb  under  the 
doorway  arch  furnished  the  only  light  there  was,  which 
was  fortunate  for  him,  for  while  the  corridor  bellowed 
'and  echoed  with  the  discharges  of  the  machine  guns 
and  the  projectiles  pinged  everywhere,  Ellis  lay  squeezed 
in  an  unfinished  electrical  conduit  trench  along  one  wall. 
His  enemies  were  business  men,  accustomed  to  killing 
in  a business-like  way,  and  they  didn’t  believe  in  charg- 
jing  into  the  darkness  after  a man  who  might  still  be 
'alive  and  armed. 

But  now  they  felt  sure  that  the  guns  had  done  the 
.job,  and  with  a searchlight  before  them,  they  advanced. 
Ellis  could  see  the  shadows  of  no  less  than  six  men 
creep  along  the  floor.  Desperately  he  inched  along  a 
little,  and  miraculously,  so  it  seemed,  he  came  to  an 
opening  where  the  conduit  entered  the  wall.  He 
squeezed  in. 

After  a foot  or  two  the  opening  constricted,  and  he 
was  stuck,  with  the  lower  portion  of  his  body  still  out. 
The  guards  were  now  so  close  that  he  could  hear  their 
voices,  as  they  cautiously  swept  their  lights  here  and 
there.  In  another  moment  he  must  surely  be  discovered. 

Something  heavy  came  down  on  his  leg.  There  was 
a startled  squawk.  "Here  he  is !”  a voice  cried.  "Down 
that  slot !’’ 

There  was  an  eager  scrambling.  With  superhuman 
effort  Ellis  caught  a rough  projection,  pulled  himself 
till  his  bones  cracked,  and  got  loose.  The  narrow  place 
was  behind  him.  He  was  pursued  by  curses  and  bul- 
lets, but  the  trap  which  had  so  nearly  been  fatal  now 
aid^  him.  None  of  the  missiles  got  around  it. 

He  was  now  in  total  darkness,  crawling  blindly. 


The  conduit  was  evidently  designed  for  a multitude  of 
uses,  for  there  were  cables,  pipes  and  fittings  galore. 
At  places  it  broadened  out  until  travel  was  quite  com- 
fortable. Again  it  constricted  to  passages  so  narrow 
that  he  could  hardly  squeeze  through.  Always  he  was 
obsessed  by  the  fear  that  he  might  become  hopelessly 
stuck. 

After  interminable  struggles  through  blackness  he 
came  to  a place  where  the  conduit  rose  straight  up. 
Cast  into  the  concrete  there  were  iron  rungs.  Aside 
from  the  physical  effort  there  was  no  difficulty  in 
climbing. 

He  counted  the  steps,  which  were  about  a foot  apart. 
This  gave  him  an  idea  of  his  height  above  the  street 
level.  He  explored  numerous  branches  of  the  conduit, 
whenever  they  were  large  enough  to  admit  his  body. 
Most  of  the  time  they  branched  still  further,  stopping 
him.  Occasionally,  however,  a conduit  opened  on 
switch-board  panels  in  unfinished  rooms.  Cautiously 
exploring  these,  Ellis  always  found  them  deserted,  the 
doors  locked.  From  the  windows  he  could  obtain  a 
magnificent  view  of  the  darkened  city  under  the  velvet 
black,  starless  firmament.  But  he  never  lingered  long, 
for  he  could  hear  the  scurrying  of  feet  and  the  slam- 
ming of  doors.  This  bold  invasion  of  his  stronghold 
had  evidently  not  been  taken  into  Spumelli’s  reckoning. 

Ellis  opened  windows  whenever  he  could.  Should  his 
enemies  try  to  gas  him  out  of  the  conduit  system,  a 
draft  of  air  would  be  a great  help. 

Continuing  the  ascent,  he  came  to  the  400th  rung. 
He  was  soaking  with  sweat,  for  the  conduit  was  hot 
as  well  as  narrow.  The  rough  metal  covering  of  the 
heavy  cables  chafed  his  back  and  tore  his  clothing.  He 
had  abandoned  his  coat  and  vest.  * 

At  the  624th  rung  he  came  to  another  transverse  con- 
duit. They  had  become  rare,  and  he  decided  to  crawl 
into  that  one  and  lie  low  for  a while.  The  passage  was 
difficult,  and  had  evidently  been  hastily  enlarged.  The 
jagged  edges  of  broken  concrete  gouged  into  his  body, 
scratched  his  skin.  Extremely  heavy  cables,  much 
heavier  than  any  used  in  the  other  transverse  conduits, 
were  apparently  the  reason  for  the  enlargement.  Ellis 
wished  for  a light  to  examine  those  cables  better.  He 
could  tell  from  their  tremendous  size  that  they  were 
capable  of  carrying  tremendous  power. 

Suddenly  he  came  to  a break  in  the  wall,  which  had 
been  rudely  smashed  open.  The  hole  had  been  closed 
again  with  boards,  through  which  the  cables  passed. 
Peering  through  a crack,  Ellis  saw  Professor  Dawkel- 
son.  He  was  sitting  at  a flat-topped  desk,  his  white 
head  bowed  on  his  arms. 

The  large  room  was  filled  with  electrical  apparatus 
similar  to  what  the  professor  had  used  in  his  laboratory, 
but  built  on  an  enormous  scale.  Twinned  vacuum 
tubes  fifteen  feet  long  and  three  feet  in  diameter,  their 
hot  cathodes  as  large  as  railroad  springs,  their  anodes 
funnels  of  polished  platinum;  inductances  like  giant 
serpents;  strange  semi-circular  metal  sponges  seven 
feet  or  more  in  diameter ; and  dominating  everything, 
near  the  center  of  the  room,  a spinning  column  of 
metal,  on  insulated  bearings,  which,  Ellis  knew,  must 
extend  through  the  roof  and  end  in  a ball  at  the  very 
top  of  the  tower,  hidden  by  the  never-ending  darkness. 


THE  KING  OF  THE  BLACK  BOWL 


343 


sending  out  powerful  ether  waves  to  generate  that 
strange  “node”  colloquially  known  as  “the  King’s 
Bowl.”  There  was  a faint  hum,  the  pungent  odor  of 
ozone,  and  a draft  of  unpleasant  dry  heat  through  the 
cracks  in  the  board  shield. 

“Hi,  Professor!” 

The  old  man  started,  raised  his  haggard  face,  sud- 
denly agleam  with  wild  hope. 

“Yes!”  he  answered  in  a low  voice,  looking  for  the 
source  of  the  sound. 

“It’s  me — Ellis.  Is  there  any  way  I can  get  in?” 
“How  did  you  get  here?  I never  thought  a man 
could  crawl  through  that.”  He  hurriedly  took  a ham- 
mer out  of  a tool  chest,  climbed  on  a high  stool  to 
loosen  some  of  the  boards. 

“Prof !”  Ellis  exclaimed  excitedly,  dusting  his  clothes, 
“why  not  smash  some  of  those  things?  If  we  can  lift 
the  bowl  the  whole  U.  S.  army  will  be  here  in  a few 
minutes.” 

The  Death  Trap 

DAWKELSON  pointed  to  a line  of  fine  light  beams 
projecting  from  a slot  in  the  wall.  The  beams 
formed  a screen  which  cut  them  off  from  the  three- 
quarters  of  the  room  where  the  nodal  apparatus  was. 
“Ah — ^a  death  ray?” 

“Not  exactly.  A life  ray.  Each  one  of  those  beams 
falls  on  a photo-electric  cell  on  the  opposite  wall.  As 
long  as  the  light  is  not  interrupted  a relay  holds  open 
a switch.  But  watch!” 

Seizing  a long  board,  he  gingerly  placed  the  end  of 
it  into  the  path  of  one  of  the  light  pencils.  Instantly 
a blue  flame  leaped  from  the  floor  to  the  ceiling,  a 
living  sheet  of  electricity,  swaying,  curling,  reaching 
out  hungry  fingers  for  the  two  men.  The  board,  with- 
drawn, was  charged  and  smoking.  > At  once  the  elec- 
trical barrage  stopped. 

“Very  neat,  that!”  Ellis  commented,  drawing  a deep 
breath. 

“Nothing  can  cross  that  line,  and  live,  the  professor 
Said  despondently. 

“But  why  does  he  keep  you  here?” 

“Just  to  watch.  If  anything  goes  wrong  I’m  to  call 
Spumelli.  He  allows  no  one  to  touch  the  apparatus 
but  himself.” 

“You  say  he  comes  alone?” 

“Ye-es.”  Dawkelson  viewed  his  pupil’s  slight  frame 
“But  the  two  of  us  can’t  handle  him.  He’s  like  a 
tiger.” 

“Never  mind.  Does  he  turn  off  the  barrage?” 

“Just  before  he  comes  in.  But  he’s  in  immediately 
after  that.  No  chance  to  get  over  there.  I tried  it 
once.  See  this  bruise  on  my  temple?” 

Ellis  selected  a three-foot  length  of  two-by-four  from 
the  odds  and  ends  in  the  corner. 

“Just  call  the  ‘king’  and  tell  him  your  outfit  is  acting 
up.  I’ll  stand  beside  the  door,  and  when  he  comes  in, 

why ” His  blue  eyes  gloated  back  of  their  strong 

lenses. 

Dawkelson  spoke  into  the  ’phone.  “I  want  to  speak 
to  His  Majesty.” 

After  a moment  there  was  the  rattle  of  a voice. 


“Your  Majesty,  this  is  Dawkelson.  We’re  developing 
a bad  corona  on  the  fifteenth  negative  terminal.  Air’s 
strongly  ionized.  Liable  to  have  a.  spill-over  any 
minute.” 

“Be  right  over !”  came  the  answer. 

“Stand  over  there  in  front  of  the  door,”  Ellis  di- 
rected nervously,  “so  he’ll  have  something  to  draw  his 
attention.” 

After  a short  wait  the  door  opened.  Spumelli  stood 
just  outside,  amused. 

“So  you  really  rated  me  so  low  in  the  scale  of  intelli- 
gence!” he  said  with  mock  reproach.  “To  think  I’d 
fall  for  such  a simple  trap!  Really,  I’m  surprised  you 
didn’t  suspect  I’d  have  a mike  hidden  in  the  room,  and 
a televisor  lens  too.  This  is  a mighty  important  room, 
you  know.  Really  hurts  me  to  have  you  expect  me  to 
be  so  careless !” 

“And  now,  young  man,”  he  continued,  speaking 
around  the  corner  of  the  door,  “I’ll  forego  the  pleasure 
of  being  the  first  to  walk  through  this  door  in  favor 
of  one  of  the  boys.  They  don’t  mind  taking  a good 
whack  for  the  chance  to  get  in  a few  of  their  own.” 
His  henchmen,  standing  back  of  him,  grinned  at  that, 
took  firm  grips. 

Spumelli’s  bantering  tone  suddenly  became  venomous, 
as  he  fixed  his  gaze  on  the  professor  again. 

“As  for  you!  You  know  the  penalty  of  treachery. 
Death!  Not  an  easy  death.  It  will  be  a spectacular 
death,  an  object  lesson  to  the  kingdom.  At  ’em,  men!” 

He  stepped  aside,  and  a half  dozen  of  his  guards, 
bats  over  their  heads,  poured  in.  Ellis’  first  blow 
landed  on  an  upraised  bat;  then  his  club  was  knocked 
from  his  hands.  Blocking  the  way  to  the  door,  four 
men  advanced  slowly.  Ellis,  helpless  now,  retreated. 

“Stop!”  the  professor  cried.  “You’re  close  to  the 
deadline!”  The  two  guards  who  held, him  looked  on 
with  interest. 

“About  six  feet  to  go,”  Spumelli  remarked,  cheerily 
lighting  a cigarette.  “I  didn’t  turn  off  the  juice,  so 
you’d  better  take  the  beating.” 

A guard,  tentatively  swinging  his  bat,  forced  Ellis 
back  another  foot.  Then  another  struck  him,  not  very 
hard,  on  the  shoulder.  They  were  brutish  but  canny, 
wanting  to  prolong  the  sport. 

The  butt  of  a bat  prodded  his  face,  cutting  a gash 
from  which  the  slow  blood  trickled.  Involuntarily 
Ellis  stepped  back  another  foot  toward  the  line  of 
death.  But  as  he  dodged  some  blows,  took  others,  he 
tried  desperately  to  seize  on  an  idea  that  lingered  tan- 
talizingly  on  the  border  of  his  conscience.  It  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  that  relay.  Another  blow  dazed  him. 
His  head  was  a mass  of  racking  pain.  He  was  in  no 
condition  to  think  that  problem  out,  so  with  a wild 
whoop  he  threw  himself  through  the  barrier  of  light — 
threw  himself  sideways  as  a high- jumper  does. 

There  was  a terrific  crash — z.  sheet  of  infernal,  hissing 
flame  curtained  the  room  from  top  to  bottom,  and  Ellis 
rolled  on  the  floor  on  the  other  side,  uninjured  except 
for  a slight  burn.  Although  the  action  of  the  relay  was 
quick,  it  was  not  instantaneous.  A brief  fraction  of  a 
second  intervened  before  the  automatic  switches  could 
function.  That  infinitesimal  respite  was  enough  for 
the  slim  young  man’s  body,  sidewise-flung,  to  pass.  One 


344 


5V  O N D E R 


STORIES 


of  the  guards,  who  had  instinctively  jumped  after  him 
lay  on  the  floor,  blood  running  from  his  nose  and  ears, 
skin  cyanotic. 

Spumelli  leaped  outside,  threw  the  switch.  “All  right, 
men,  get  him !” 

But  Ellis  was  on  his  feet.  Close  at  hand  was  an 
instrument  table  with  a heavy  cast-iron  base.  He  pulled 
the  table  top  off  its  bracket  and  seized  the  stem,  hold- 
ing the  heavy  base  over  his  head. 

“Shoot,  or  move  one  step  further,  and  this’ll  drop 
on  the  cathode  tube !’’  he  cried. 

“Get  him!”  Spumelli’s  voice  was  harsh,  tinged  with 
fear.  “Don’t  let  him  smash  that  tube !” 

Another  of  the  guards,  carelessly  laying  a hand  on 
one  of  the  great  helices,  fell  dead.  The  other  two,  keep- 
ing carefully  in  the  clear,  approached  determinately. 
Their  problem  was  to  knock  this  young  man  down  and 
at  the  same  time  prevent  the  heavy  cast-iron  from  fall- 
ing on  the  glass. 

CHAPTER  IV 
Desperate  Moments 

The  blow  fell.  Blood  welling  out  and  coagulating 
on  his  flaxen  hair,  Ellis  sank  to  the  floor,  uncon- 
scious. One  of  the  guards  grabbed  for  the 
standard,  missed  it.  It  struck  the  great  tube  with  a 
clank  like  a maul  on  a steel  boiler.  This  was  followed 
instantly  by  a hollow  boom,  a shattering  of  glass.  A 
fuse  exploded,  and  there  was  silence.  The  undamaged 
twin  tube  changed  its  glow  from  pale  violet  to  brilliant 
lavender  as  it  assumed  the  full  load,  and  the  cathode 
brightened  to  a brilliant  white.  Ellis’  unconscious  form 
was  carried  out,  as  were  the  bodies  of  the  two  dead 
guards. 

Spumelli,  really  shaken,  carefully  locked  the  door, 
and  harshly  directed  that  his  prisoners  be  locked  in  a 
nearby  vacant  room.  At  that  moment  the  elevator 
clanged,  and  a soldier  dashed  out. 

“Riot !”  he  gasped.  “Some  crazy  loon’s  shooting  out 
the  lights  below.  He’s  raising  hell !”  The  man’s  black 
eye  testified  to  the  truth  of  that  statement. 

“Why  didn’t  you  place  him  under  arrest?”  Spumelli 
snapped. 

“We  thought  he  was  dead,  but  it  seems  the  bullet 
just  stunned  him.  We  let  him  lay  and  most  of  us 

went  after  his  pal,  when  pretty  soon ” 

Spumelli  interrupted.  “Is  this  the  man  you  were 
chasing?”  He  pointed  to  Ellis,  who  was  beginning  to 
stir.  The  soldier  stared. 

“I  believe  it  is,  sir,  but  how ” 

"Never  mind.  I think  I know  the  gentleman  who’s 
raising  the  disturbance.  Where  is  he  now?” 

“Why,  he’s  got  a machine  gun  in  one  of  the  corridor 
shops.” 

“One  of  owr  machine  guns?” 

“Why — ^you  see — ^when  he  came  to  he  knocked  out 
the  guards  we  left  and  turned  one  of  the  guns  on  us, 
smashing  the  other.  He  got  a couple  of  our  men, 
and ” 

Spumelli  struck  him  in  the  face,  and  he  fell  bleeding. 
“Sotti  I”  the  “king”  cried  angrily.  An  aide  came 


running. 

-^‘Arm  every  man.  Guard  this  floor  with  your  life. 
Send  a detail  down  to  guard  the  power  tunnel.  Close 
the  conduits  and  gas  them.  Send  an  emergency  gen- 
eral call  for  reinforcements.” 

Turning  to  his  captives,  he  ordered  them  brought  to 
the  elevator,  and  so  to  the  ground  floor  where  a desul- 
tory battle  was  going  on.  Although  Buck  Holt  could 
not  risk  going  into  the  corridor  for  a clean  sweep,  he 
was  splashing  his  bullets  on  the  concrete  wall  and  get- 
ting good  distribution.  Spumelli’s  forces  were  return- 
ing the  fire  from  various  points  of  vantage  with  new 
guns. 

Ellis  was  able  to  walk  now,  though  he  was  wobbly. 
Spumelli,  in  the  comparative  safety  of  the  elevator 
shaft,  prodded  them  both  with  his  automatic. 

“Just  take  a walk,  boys.  We’ll  let  Mr.  Holt  execute 
the  royal  decree.  Walk  now!”  He  forced  them  out, 
straight  toward  the  stream  of  death  that  came,  almost 
uninterrupted,  from  the  doorway  some  thirty  yards 
toward  the  front. 

“Duck!”  Ellis  whispered.  They  hugged  the  wall, 
crawling  close  to  the  floor.  Once  they  had  to  push 
aside  a sticky,  huddled  form.  Buck,  still  oblivious  to 
their  presence,  methodically  fed  hot  death  into  the 
blackness. 

Outside,  the  dark  street  became  light — ^the  prompt 
response  to  Spumelli’s  call.  Keen  fighting  men,  skid- 
ding to  a stop,  had  taken  in  the  situation  at  once. 
Armored  cars  belched  flames  and  Buck,  moving  to  meet 
this  new  emergency,  paused  for  a moment  to  readjust 
himself.  Scuttling  like  crabs,  the  fugitives  crossed 
his  erstwhile  line  of  fire.  The  corridor  was  being  thor- 
oughly pulverized,  and  friend  and  foe  retreated  from 
the  blast.  But  the  barrage  was  only  preliminary.  After 
a few  seconds  a dozen  men,  carrying  light  rapid-firers, 
advanced  in  a thin  line.  Now  the  moment  in  which 
the  three  in  the  shop  were  discovered  would  mark  their 
end.  Fortunately  for  them,  there  was  almost  no  light 
save  for  the  gun  flashes. 

Buck,  who  had  inserted  another  long  cartridge  belt, 
nodded  casually  to  his  strangely  appearing  friends,  after 
a short,  strained  appraisal,  muzzle  steady. 

“Almost  burned  you  down.”  His  lips  formed  the: 
words,  though  he-  could  not  be  heard  in  that  tumult. 
His  features  were  eery  in  the  fantastic  high-lights  and 
shadows,  the  brief  red  flashes. 

Ellis  motioned  to  a door  that  led  to  a small  rest  room. 
Keeping  close  to  the  floor,  they  crawled  in  there,  found 
another  door,  the  entrance  to  the  next  shop.  The  shoot- 
ing had  ceased.  In  a narrow,  pitch-dark  corridor,  they 
rested. 

Respite  was  very  short.  Strong  lights  appeared  in 
the  rooms  they  had  just  left,  and  again  they  were  forced 
to  run.  Buck  had  to  carry  his  gun  and  half  support  the 
old  man  too.  A few  times  the  searchers  sent  streams 
of  metal  in  their  direction,  in  their  methodical  mopping- 
up,  and  once  they  accompanied  this  with  the  strong 
beam  of  a search-light.  Immediately  a cry  went  up. 

Gasping,  stumbling  into  one  another  in  the  alter- 
nating glare  and  darkness,  cut  by  chips  of  splattering 
metal,  they  ran.  Just  as  the  gunmen  were  getting  them 
located  they  spied  a dark  patch  to  their  left.  Plunging 


THE  KING  OF  THE  BLACK  BOWL 


345 


into  this,  they  almost  tumbled  down-stairs  into  the  base- 
ment. It  was  a stairway.  In  the  darkness  and  un- 
familiar surroundings,  they  blundered  on.  Above  them 
they  heard  pounding  feet,  and  lights  began  to  throw 
long,  grotesque  shadows.  Acrid  powder  fumes  drifted 
down. 

“Find  a window  into  the  alley,  you!”  Buck  gasped. 
He  took  refuge  behind  a pillar  and  let  fly  at  the  first 
man  to  show  his  legs.  That  one  fell.  The  others 
withdrew,  but  the  respite  was  only  momentary.  Already 
an  armor-plate  shield  was  being  lowered.  The  bullets 
rang  on  the  shield  with  a deafening  clamor. 

A draft  of  cool  air  struck  Buck’s  neck,  and  he  ran. 
He  scrambled  over  a pile  of  boxes  to  the  broken  win- 
dow. The  professor  was  already  outside  and  Ellis  was 
calling  anxiously.  Buck  let  go  a few  more  shots,  but 
that  was  a mistake,  because  it  betrayed  his  exact  loca- 
tion. A veritable  storm  of  bullets  followed,  and  Ellis 
got  one  in  the  arm. 

The  whole  neighborhood  was  in  an  uproar.  The 
fugitives  started  for  the  street  but  halted  immediately, 
for  it  was  thronged  with  soldiers,  some  of  whom 
plunged  into  the  shadows  to  investigate  the  shooting. 
Running  the  other  way,  the  fugitives  made  for  a quieter 
street  in  the  next  block.  Behind  them  there  was  shoot- 
ing, vehement  cursing.  Mistaking  each  other’s  identity 
the  pursuers  from  the  basement  and  the  men  from  the 
street  had  fired  on  one  another. 

From  there  on  the  flight  became  panic.  They  ran 
in  the  general  direction  of  the  river,  not  knowing  their 
surroundings,  blundering  through  viaducts,  alleys,  over 
tracks,  long,  deserted  freight  platforms,  impeded  by 
the  professor’s  age  and  the  weakening  effect  of  Ellis’ 
wound.  Lights  flashed  and  bullets  rained.  As  they 
passed  side  streets  they  saw  the  swiftly  coursing  trucks 
as  they  dashed  around  and  around  in  pursuit.  They 
came  at  last  to  a tiny  park,  climbed  a low  iron  fence, 
and  found  themselves  at  the  river’s  edge. 

“Can’t  stop  here !”  Buck  gasped.  They  turned  to  the 
north,  but  only  150  yards  upstream  they  saw  lights  and 
questing  figures.  A glance  was  enough  to  show  that 
they  were  cut  off  to  the  south,  and  back  of  them,  moving 
more  cautiously,  other  groups  were  closing  in  on  them. 

“We’ll  have  to  swim !” 

“I  can’t !”  the  professor  groaned.  “Go  ahead, 
though.” 

“My  arm!”  Ellis  held  his  hand  over  the  wound. 
“Leave  the  gun  with  me.  I’ll  hold  ’em  a little  while. 
You  get  over  and  maybe  you  can  try  ^ain.” 

“I  dropped  it  in  the  park.  Out  of  ammunition.  Hey ! 
Hey!”  The  crackling  of  bullets  over  their  heads  sent 
them  in  quick  retreat  to  the  water’s  edge.  Buck 
stumbled,  and  with  a half-suppressed  cry  of  gladness 
fumbled  over  the  thing  that  had  tripped  him. 


“A  waterlogged  timber ! But  it  floats.  Get  on  here 
quick.”  They  clung  to  this  forlorn  hope,  pushed  out 
into  the  chill,  murky  river.  Paddling  with  hands  and 
feet,  they  slowly  put  distance  between  themselves  and 
the  darker  loom  of  the  shore.  Spumelli’s  men  were 
coming  up  to  the  park  now,  prudently  lashing  every- 
thing with  bullets.  The  air  throbbed  with  the  tuk-tuk- 
tuk  of  the  heavy  quick-firers,  crackled  with  the  bullets 
flying  overhead.  They  had  not  yet  been  discovered, 
and  struggled  desperately  to  get  into  midstream  where 
the  current  would  carry  them. 

They  were  still  within  100  feet  of  the  shore  when 
the  search-lights  found  them.  And  all  the  firing  they 
had  endured  before  was  as  nothing  to  the  murderous 
stream  which  swept  over  them  now.  The  three  men 
hung  in  the  water,  their  legs  down,  allowing  themselves 
bare  handholds  on  the  huge  timber,  which  had  to  be 
kept  broadside  to  the  shore.  The  timber  protected  their 
heads,  and  because  it  rode  so  low,  the  upper  parts  of 
their  bodies,  which  might  have  been  reached  by  the 
bullets,  but  Ellis  and  the  professor  showed  evidence  of 
fast  waning  strength. 

Peering  around  the  end  of  the  timber.  Buck  saw  a 
boat  leaving  the  shore  a hundred  yards  up  the  river. 
Several  men  sat  in  it,  the  lights  reflecting  strongly 
from  their  weapons. 

“Well,  old-timer,  good-bye!”  he  said  quietly. 

“So  they’re  coming!”  Ellis  murmured.  “So  long!” 

And  then  all  three  of  them  closed  their  eyes  to  a 
sudden,  intolerable  glare  of  light.  To  their  darkness- 
accustomed  eyes  it  was  a light  so  intense,  so  unbear- 
able, that  it  was  a positive  pain.  It  flashed  from  each 
wave,  from  each  towering  building  that  seemed  to  leap 
out  of  the  darkness.  It  seemed  to  envelop  the  soaring 
pillar  of  the  Westloop  building  in  lambent  flames. 
Squinting,  they  saw  that  superb  structure  mushroom, 
fly  out  in  a glittering  cloud,  settle  slowly  and  linger- 
ingly. But  the  light,  the  all-enveloping  light,  continued. 

“Oh  the  sun — ^the  beautiful  sun !”  Sobbing  hys- 
terically, the  professor  was  dragging  himself  on  to  the 
drift-wood,  which,  caught  in  a cross-current,  was  ap- 
proaching the  other  shore. 

“The  Black  Bowl  is  gone!”  Ellis  exclaimed  with 
renewed  strength.  “The  single  cathode  tube  couldn’t 
carry  the  load.  When  the  field  collapsed  it  wrecked 
the  building.  The  troops’ll  be  coming  in  from  all  sides.” 

In  fact,  a moment  later  a squadron  of  hydroplanes 
came  in  from  the  east.  Two  of  them  left  formation 
and  dropped  to  the  river,  throwing  up  thin  sheets  of 
water. 

“Ahoy!”  a snappy-looking  man  in  uniform  called. 
“Want  help?” 

“You’re  cock-eyed  right  we  want  help!”  Buck  re- 
plied. “Did  you  think  we’re  here  to  take  a bath?” 


The  End. 


NEXT  MONTH 

'A  new  and  marvelous  “dimension-traveling  story 
By  Francis  Flagg 
“The  Lizard  Men  of  Buh-Lo” 


A RESCUE  IN  SPACE 


By  LOWELL  HOWARD  MORROW 
5811  Hough  Avenue,  Oeveland,  Ohio 


A RESCUE  IN  SPACE 


of  the  volcanic  action  that  had  ejected  them  from  a fiery 
womb — lay  silent  and  dumb  in  the  ghostly  light.  Here 
and  there  only  remnants  of  a vegetable  life  survived  in 
the  forests  of  the  valleys  terminating  at  the  coast.  But 
sailing  on  above  forests  and  green  fields  he  would  have 
seen  such  animal  life  as  horses  and  cattle  and  others 
which  have  become  the  servants  of  man  on  earth.  Then 
as  he  neared  the  sea  he  would  have  been  startled  and 
impressed  by  finding  the  works  of  man. 

These  structures  of  man’s  hands — great  conical- 
shaped citadels  of  red — were  built  upon  the  rocks  of 
the  waste  places  in  order  to  conserve  the  arable  lands. 
The  buildings,  gigantic  and  formidable,  loomed  high 
above  rock  and  tree.  There  was  a circular  opening  in 


the  center  of  each  dome,  and  near  the  base,  which  was 
buttressed  with  rough-hewn  rocks,  were  large,  hooded 
port-holes  commanding  every  point  of  the  compass. 
As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  over  forest  and  plain  and 
out  over  the  ocean  itself,  no  other  evidences  of  man’s 
handiwork  could  be  seen.  The  great  citadels  themselves 
displayed  no  lights  and  showed  no  signs  of  life.  Sombre, 
majestic  and  silent  they  reared  their  grim  forms  toward 
the  sky,  mysterious  sentinels  on  the  outposts  of  life. 

For  life  there  was  beneath  those  great,  red  domes — 


m\n 


■■■ 


''7  r «‘r 


it.  ' I 


347 


348 


WONDER  STORIES 

the  hectic,  feverish,  surging  Ufe  of  man.  Deep  down  flashing  lights  whose  brilliance  rivaled  that  of  the  noon- 
under  rock  and  ground  and  sea,  the  Martians  had  bur-  day  sun.  Flags  fluttered  in  the  artificial  breeze.  Tapes- 
rowed  and  excavated  their  way,  had  built  great  cities  tries  of  the  richest  fabrics  and  coloring  depicting  battle 
of  steel  and  stone  and  glass  with  Wide  streets  flanked  scenes  of  the  long  ago;  portraits  of  the  Martian  great, 
by  beautiful  buildings.  It  was  all  electrically  equipped  and  paintings  of  pastoral  scenes  of  when  the  world  was 
and  controlled  by  the  latest  inventions  of  a super-scien-  young  looked  down  from  the  walls, 
tific  civilization.  Here  the  industrial,  governmental  The  orchestra  was  filling  the  chamber  with  melody, 
and  domestic  life  of  Mars  had  its  being.  and  the  hum  of  subdued  conversation  moaned  through 

Many  considerations  had  constituted  the  Martians’  the  place,  when  suddenly  a solemn  hush  fell  over  all.  The 
reason  for  life  underground.  Theirs  was  a dying  world,  orchestra  hushed  with  startling  suddenness,  and  all  eyes 
For  thousands  of  years  the  fertile  lands  had  dwindled ; were  turned  toward  the  curtain-draped  portal  through 
the  lakes  and  seas  had  shrunk  and  the  reservoirs  which  which  President  Wando  came  surrounded  by  his  cabinet, 
fed  the  irrigation  canals  had  either  frozen  or  been  On  a large,  canopy-topped  chair  resembling  a throne, 
burned  up  in  the  scorching  rays  of  the  sun.  Fertile  soil  the  President  sat  down.  After  which  the  cabinet  mem- 
was  too  precious  to  be  encumbered  by  the  cities  of  man,  hers  seated  themselves  in  a semi-circle  about  him.  Presi- 
and  the  rocky  wastes  were  desolate  and  cold.  dent  Wando  was  a small  man  with  a massive  head  set 

For  generations  also  other  worlds  had  made  war  on  on  narrow  shoulders.  His  eyes  were  large,  luminous 
Mars,  for  the  planet  was  rich  in  minerals  and  precious  and  set  wide  apart.  His  forehead  was  high,  his  chin 
stones.  Its  armies  had  been  beaten  in  the  field,  air  long  and  pointed,  and  his  mouth  was  but  a mere  slit 
fleet  after  air  fleet  destroyed  and  cities  razed  until  the  beneath  a small,  aquiline  nose. 

people,  despite  their  great  The  nearby  radio  was 

civilization  and  intelli-  MORROW  is  probably  well-known  silent,  and  the  large  tele- 

gence  and  marvelous  in-  JrA  to  the  former  readers  of  AlR  WoNDER  vision  screen  near  the 

ventions,  had  been  obliged  STORIES  as  a writer  of  stirring  fiction.  In  President’s  chair  showed 

to  Seek  a subterranean  awarding  the  third  prize,  we  looked  more  to  only  blank  emptiness, 

home.  Here  far  beyond  the  fictional  elements  of  the  stories  than  to  their  “Now  for  the  reports,” 

the  power  of  bomb  or  ray  scientific  completeness.  This  does  not  mean  said  the  President 

to  harm  them,  they  lived  that  the  present  story  is  inaccurate,  for  it  is  not  brusquely, 

in  comparative  security,  that.  But  its  excellence  is  particularly  in  the  Just  then  there  was  a 

emerging  through  their  story,  and  as  a story  it  was  picked  as  a winner  stir  near  the  portal,  and 

electric  forts  only  to  to  be  read  and  enjoyed.  an  officer  in  the  rich  scar- 

carry  on  their  agricul-  As  our  readers  can  perceive,  we  have  picked  let  uniform  of  a knight 

tural  work  or  to  repel  a for  the  prize  winners  of  the  February  1930  AlR  oif  the  air  entered  and 

foe.  For  even  here  they  WONDER  STORIES  Cover  Contest  not  only  came  rapidly  up  the  aisle, 

were  sometimes  forced  to  stories  that  were  excellent,  but  also  those  which  Resting  his  small  hands 

fight  an  enemy  who  came  represented  different  types.  The  first  prize  on  the  arms  of  his  chair 

to  them  across  the  cold,  winner  was  chiefly  the  story  of  a race  attempt-  the  President  half  rose  to 

dark  gulf  of  space.  ing  to  save  itself  from  extinction;  the  second  meet  him  as  he  came  up 

dealt  with  an  interplanetary  catastrophe  and  the  the  steps  of  the  platform. 

President  Wando  third  with  an  interplanetary  war  and  added  to  Then  he  settled  teck  star- 

Galls  a Conference  that  a romance  of  space.  The  fourth  prize  ing  with  troubled  eyes. 

winner  to  be  presented  next  month  is  in  many  “Mr.  President,”  said 

NOW  for  months  the  ’^respects  the  most  unusual  of  all,  ^ the  officer,  saluting 

Martians  had  been  gravely,  “I  regret  to  re- 

carrying on  a delicate  and  important  correspondence  port  another  failure.  All  the  scout  cruisers  have  been 
with  a neighbor  of  the  solar  system,  a neighbor  who  called  in  as  you  directed,  and  they  have  returned  with  me.” 
sought  the  rich  minerals  of  the  red  planet.  The  enemy’s  The  President  looked  off  at  the  shining  walls,  but  he 
arrogant  demands  had  been  refused,  though  his  name  saw  nothing  but  a mist  of  tears.  For  a moment  his  thin 
made  the  Martians  tremble  in  terror.  And  again  The  lips  quivered  as  he  fought  to  master  himself.  Two 
Spectacles  was  knocking  at  their  door.  weeks^  before  one  who  was  dearer  to  him  than  life  itself. 

The  night  on  which  our  story  opens  marked  a grave  through  the  accident  of  an  unlocked  port  had  been  pre- 
crisis in  the  affairs  of  the  Martians.  For  weeks  rela-  cipitated  into  the  great  ocean  of  space, 
tions  with  Venus  had  been  strained  to  the  breaking  “I  feared  as  much,”  he  said  at  last.  “But  I must  try 
point,  and  then  without  warning  Venus  had  suddenly  to  endure  my  loss  like  a true  Martian.  Under  present 
broken  off  negotiations.  For  two  weeks  no  word  had  conditions  we  can  not  further  endanger  our  fleet  in 
come  from  that  planet.  For  two  weeks  the  people  of  those  cold,  waste  places  of  outer  space.  The  danger  is 
Mars  had  been  unable  to  gather  any  intimation  of  her  far  too  great,  and  doubtless  before  this  the  spark  of 
intentions.  And  now  the  suspense  having  become  un-  life  which  we  loved  so  well  has  fled  to  its  Maker.” 
bearable.  President  Wando  had  summoned  his  council-  The  President  paused  and  looked  down  over  the  ani- 
ors  in  extraordinary  session.  mated  faces  of  the  listening  thousands,  then  slowly  over 

The  great  council  chamber  was  ablaze  with  light  and  the  wan,  care-worn  faces  of  his  advisors.  Finally  his 
color.  Rock  crystals  glittered  on  ceiling  and  walls,  eyes  came  to  rest  on  the  blank  television  screen. 
Suspended  from  the  arched  and  lofty  ceiling  were  many  “To-night  we  must  plan  a new  battle  of  defense,” 


A RESCUE  IN  SPACE  349 


he  resumed.  "It  is  evident  that  Venus  has  rejected  our 
last  overtures  of  peace — rejected  them  with  con- 
temptuous silence.  This  can  mean  only  war,  war  to 
the—” 

The  President  paused,  his  staring  eyes  riveted  on  the 
screen,  his  body  rigid  and  tense  with  excitement.  For 
on  the  screen  appeared  a yellow  blur  which  broadened 
and  developed  as  it  swept  into  the  field  of  vision  until 
it  assumed  the  contour  of  a giant  space  flyer  standing 
clear-cut  against  the  black  sky  of  space. 

The  Spectacles  Arrives 

The  'SPECTACLES !"  exclaimed  the  President 
in  a hoarse  whisper,  and  his  councilors,  staring 
with  popping  eyes  at  the  onrushing  ship,  bent  forward 
breathlessly.  For  a tense  moment  the  hush  of  death 
was  on  the  chamber.  Then  with  a murmur  the  great 
audience  got  to  their  feet  and  gazed  with  starting  eyes 
as  the  great  space-flyer  took  form  on  the  screen.  Then 
the  dire  words — The  Spectacles,  passed  from  lip  to 
lip,  passed  from  the  chamber  and  was  taken  up  by 
thousands  on  the  outside  until  it  echoed  and  re-echoed 
in  a frenzied  shout  of  despair.  For 
many  were  the  vague  but  terrible 
stories  that  had  come  to  the  Martians 
relative  to  this  awful  monster  of  the 
air.  The  people  of  both  Uranus  and 
Neptune  had  been  slaughtered  almost 
to  a man,  and  the  earth  threatened, 
yet  not  a soul  on  Mars  knew  anything 
of  its  mechanism  or  method  of  attack. 

But  in  a few  moments  the  President 
was  on  his  feet.  He  held  up  his  hand 
and  the  people  resumed  their  seats. 

“My  fellow  citizens,  I fear  that  war 
with  Venus  has  come  at  last,”  said 
the  President  with  icy  calmness. 

“But  let  not  your  hearts  be  filled  with 
fear,  though  this  unknown  beast  now 
rushes  upon  us.  The  warriors  of 
Mars  have  never  been  entirely  van- 
quished. We  must  not  tremble  before  the  unknown 
power  of  this  new  foe.  I am  satisfied  that  our  valiant 
aerial  soldiers  are  well  able  to  take  care  of  him,  without 
even  the  help  of  our  fleet  which  is  manned  and  waiting 
to  defend  our  beloved  planet.  Therefore,  I order  that 
the  first  battalion  of  air  guards  be  assembled  at  once 
and  made  ready  for  service.”  President  Wando  turned 
to  an  officer  by  his  side.  "General  Mitho,  you  will  pro- 
ceed to  carry  out  this  order.” 

The  general  bowed  and  hastened  away,  while  a sigh 
of  relief  and  applause  came  up  from  the  people.  But 
all  eyes  were  still  staring  at  the  screen.  Although  still 
thousands  of  miles  distant  in  space  the  great  golden 
air  craft  was  nearing  them  at  tremendous  speed,  and 
all  realized  that  within  a few  hours  the  terrible  thing 
would  be  circling  above  them  and  showering  them  with 
death. 

Near  the  inner  bases  of  two  round  forts  near  the  sea 
all  was  bustle  and  excitement.  But  there  was  no  con- 
fusion, no  misunderstanding  of  orders  as  the  air  soldiers 
prepared  for  their  task.  Each  man  was  snapped  into  a 
heavy  metal  armor  of  red  which  bulged  large  at  the 


shoulders  and  the  waist  to  accommodate  and  protect 
the  delicate  electric  appurtenances  within. 

A heavily  ribbed  static  condenser  and  amplifier  ran 
down  the  back  of  this  armor  connecting  the  gravity 
nullifier  and  aerial  projector  with  the  ray  machine  and 
its  lenses  by  means  of  a broad  belt  of  shining  metal. 
The  helmet,  whose  face  and  back  were  made  of  heavy, 
non-breakable  glass,  was  equipped  with  horn-like  feelers, 
or  vibrators,  which  served  to  keep  the  equilibrium  of 
the  soldier,  illtuninate  his  way,  and  in  case  of  emergency 
by  throwing  off  powerful  static  currents  prove  a strong 
defensive  weapon.  Each  soldier  was  furnished  with 
both  food  and  air  enough  to  last  him  ten  days  under 
ordinary  fighting  conditions.  The  golden  ray,  swift 
and  terrible  in  execution,  was  his  main  weapon  of  de- 
fense, and  his  red  armor  was  built  to  withstand  a pres- 
sure of  one  hundred  pounds  to  the  square  inch. 

As  each  soldier  was  made  ready  he  was  placed  on  a 
magnetized  belt  which  ran  to  and  around  the  openings 
in  the  red  domes. 

At  last  all  was  in  readiness  to  give  the  unwelcome 
visitor  a warm  reception.  Anxiously  the  officers  gazed 
at  the  television  screens  which  were 
located  at  each  divisional  headquar- 
ters. By  this  time  the  approaching 
monster  could  be  observed  in  detail. 
The  center  of  its  round  prow  glowed 
and  gleamed  like  a great  green  eye, 
but  the  lights  in  its  ports  showed 
dully  on  their  background  of  gold. 
Truly  it  had  been  rightly  named  The 
Spectacles,  for  it  much  resembled 
those  valuable  aids  of  vision.  In  the 
center  where  the  nose-piece  should 
have  been  rose  a tower  which  swelled 
into  a rounded  top  pierced  by  a row 
of  ports,  and  in  its  crowti“^one  an- 
other green  eye.  In  the  base  of  the 
tower  were  several  large  openings 
each  covered  with  glass.  And  this, 
as  the  watchers  on  Mars  rightly 
guessed,  was  the  control  room  of  the  craft. 

Another  hour  passed  and  then  the  Martians  were 
terrified  to  see  the  great,  shining  ship  directly  over 
them  and  nearing  the  ground  with  frightful  speed.  But 
when  within  fifteen  hundred  feet  of  the  forts  it  stopped 
suddenly  and  hung  motionless  in  the  still  air.  As  the 
awe-struck  Martians  stared  upward  it  seemed  that  the 
great,  golden  bulk  of  the  enemy  filled  the  whole  sky. 
It  emitted  a pale  glow  that  spread  far  and  near,  illumi- 
nating both  the  planet  and  the  heavens  above  and  eclips- 
ing the  pin-points  of  the  stars.  It  was  a terrifying 
spectacle  to  behold. 

It  was  fully  three  hundred  yards  from  side  to  side 
and  half  that  in  breadth,  and  in  the  center  of  each 
rounded  end — which  would  represent  the  bows  and 
the  lens  of  the  spectacles — was  a gigantic  concave  eye 
of  green  which  swirled  and  eddied  and  flashed  with 
green  fire  so  swiftly  that  it  appeared  like  the  green 
waters  of  a whirlpool.  And  these  two  great  eyes  seemed 
to  the  Martians  to  be  gazing  down  on  them  with  a leer 
of  devilish  triumph. 

Down  below,  President  Wando,  gazing  at  a television 


lOWELL  HOWARD  MORROW 


350 


.WONDER  STORIES 


screen,  saw  that  the  fateful  moment  had  arrived.  He 
gave  an  order.  Instantly  the  long  rows  of  red-armored 
soldiers  began  to  move  two  abreast  on  the  belts  toward 
the  domes  of  the  forts.  There  the  belts  turned  them 
swiftly  in  a spiral.  As  they  neared  the  top  of  the  dome 
each  man  set  his  gravity  nullifier  and  his  projector  in 
motion,  and  then  was  shot  through  the  opening  into 
the  air. 

CHAPTER  II 

The  Attack  of  the  Aerial  Soldiers 

SOON  both  forts  near  the  sea  were  vomiting  solid 
streams  of  red-clad  men,  who  with  vibrating  horns 
erect  rose  rapidly  toward  the  silent,  mysterious 
craft  of  Venus.  Each  man  was  a unit  unto  himself,  yet 
an  important  factor  in  the  whole  Martian  scheme  of 
war.  Each  fully  realized  the  gravity  of  his  mission,  the 
probability  that  a speedy  death  awaited  him  above.  But 
not  a man  faltered.  Turning  on  full  power,  each  shot 
toward  that  gold-hued,  green-eyed  beast  and  made  ready 
to  launch  his  deadly  ray. 

To  their  amazement  the  soldiers  were  allowed  to 
reach  a close  point  of  vantage  without  molestation.  No 
sign  of  life  whatever  could  they  see  aboard  The  Spec- 
taeles.  Silent  and  as  unmoving  as  a statue,  the  space- 
ship waited  grimly  as  though  conscious  of  its  power 
it  disdained  to  notice  the  puny  advance  of  the  soldiers. 
Only  its  great,  green  eyes  showed  life.  Finally  a couple 
of  dozen  men  paused  in  air  facing  the  glowing  enemy 
less  than  a hundred  yards  away.  With  supreme  con- 
fidence they  shot  forth  their  terrible  yellow  rays,  and 
one  man,  bolder  than  his  fellows,  cast  his  ray  right  into 
the  green  eye  in  the  nose.  But  nothing  happened.  The 
rays  were  seen  to  waver  and  stop,  within  a few  feet 
of  the  monster  and  disappear  into  thin  air.  Rays  that 
had  been  known  to  melt  the  hardest  armor  known  to 
Martian  science  were  impotent  even  to  touch  this  hideous 
craft  which  had  come  across  the  cold  of  space  to  destroy 
them.  They  realized  that  the  enemy  was  surrounded 
by  invisible  waves  of  some  substance  that  nothing  could 
penetrate. 

Then  suddenly  the  attackers  were  forced  gently  back 
through  the  air.  Each  man’s  ray  energizer  died,  his 
gravity  nullifier  grew  weak.  Against  his  will  and  de- 
spite his  most  strenuous  efforts  he  was  faced  about  and 
thrust  back  by  some  invisible  power.  And  as  he  began 
to  fall  his  courage  fled,  panic  seized  him,  and  with  madly 
thumping  heart  he  sought  to  accelerate  his  progress  back 
into  the  shelter  of  the  forts.  It  seemed  as  if  an  icy 
hand  had  suddenly  clutched  his  heart  and  chilled  his  life- 
blood. This  was  the  fate  of  every  soldier  in  the  air. 
Bravely  he  went  to  the  attack,  and  was  thrown  back 
beaten  and  puzzled  by  a power  he  could  not  see  or 
understand. 

So  the  silent,  one-sided  attack  went  on  for  an  hour. 
Thousands  of  Mars’  most  able  and  fearless  ray  fighters 
surrounded  the  enemy  and  discharged  their  rays  hoping 
to  find  a weak  point  in  the  armor  of  the  foe  only  to  be 
forced  down  in  defeat. 

At  last  President  Wando,  amazed,  humiliated  and 
distracted,  ordered  the  attack  to  cease.  All  this  time 


the  ship  of  Venus  had  maintained  its  silent,  inactive 
poise  in  the  sky.  No  human  life  had  been  seen  about 
it.  No  projectile  had  been  fired,  no  bomb  dropped  or 
ray  sent  on  its  deadly  mission.  Not  even  a message  had 
been  received  from  it.  Most  amazing  of  all — although 
decisively  beaten,  not  a soldier  of  Mars  had  been  lost 
or  even  injured. 

President  Wando  called  a council  of  war.  Some 
officers  advocated  that  a message  be  sent  to  the  master 
of  The  Spectacles — whoever  he  might  be — ^to  learn  his 
intentions.  But  the  majority  advised  that  the  air  fleet 
be  called  from  its  subterranean  rendezvous  and  sent 
against  the  enemy.  The  President  favored  this  plan, 
for  he  knew  that  already  the  Martians  had  gone  too 
far  to  retreat,  no  matter  what  the  strange  visitor’s  inten- 
tions might  be.  So  the  cream  of  the  air  armada  of 
Mars,  fully  manned  and  eager  for  battle,  was  ordered 
to  proceed  against  the  enemy  hoping  to  cut  him  down 
by  weight  of  superior  numbers.  The  mammoth  rock 
doors  covering  the  underground  hangars  of  the  airships 
were  flung  upward,  and  then  in  a great  red  wave  one 
hundred  giant  ships  shot  into  the  air  with  rocket  speed. 

Still,  The  Spectacles  gave  no  heed;  showed  no  dis- 
position to  either  repel  or  attack  this  new  foe.  Silent 
and  motionless  it  hung  there  in  the  eerie  light  of  the 
moons  and  the  spectral  glow  of  its  own  radiance.  The 
thing  was  uncanny,  beyond  the  scope  of  reason. 

In  a few  minutes  the  red  fleet  had  arranged  itself 
in  a circle  two  miles  in  diameter  around  its  foe.  Like 
monster  globules  of  blood  the  vessels  gleamed  in  the 
moonbeams. 

President  Wando,  surrounded  by  his  advisors, 
watched  the  maneuver  with  satisfaction,  for  it  seemed 
that  nothing  could  withstand  the  combined  attack  of 
these  huge  craft.  It  appeared  that  at  last  The  Spec- 
tacles was  doomed.  The  red  fleet  was  to  have  the  credit 
for  destroying  the  mightiest  menace  to  civilization  that 
had  ever  terrorized  the  planetary  system.  The  ships  of 
Mars  were  gigantic,  terrifying  to  behold,  and  were 
equipped  with  the  latest  engines  of  scientific  destruction. 

When  all  was  ready.  President  Wando  gave  the  signal 
for  attack ; and  then  like  a giant  python  contracting  on 
its  prey  the  red  circle  narrowed,  writhed  forward  and 
rushed  upon  its  foe.  To  the  watchers  below  it  seemed 
that  The  Spectacles  must  be  crushed  by  the  power  of 
this  advancing  coil.  But  the  ship  from  Venus  made  no 
move.  Like  a great  golden  island  of  the  air,  conscious 
of  its  own  superiority  and  the  pathetic  impotency  of  its 
adversaries,  it  calmly  awaited  the  attack. 

The  ships  of  Mars  in  regular  and  beautiful  order  had 
narrowed  the  gulf  separating  them  from  The  Spectacles 
to  an  eighth  of  a mile  when  suddenly  every  craft  burst 
into  flame.  In  a twinkling  the  attacking  fleet  became  a 
cordon  of  dazzling  fire  which  blazed  fiercely  for  a few 
minutes,  then  died  quickly  leaving  nothing  but  empty  air 
where  the  red  ships  had  been  but  a few  moment  ^fore. 
Not  a vestige  of  them  remained.  Not  even  a fleck  of 
ashes  floated  in  the  air.  The  fleet  had  been  entirely 
consumed.  And  there  had  been  no  movement  on  the 
part  of  The  Spectacles — not  even  a flash  had  come  from 
its  sides.  Serene  and  unharmed  it  rode  there  in  the  sky. 

Terror  stricken  and  stupefied  by  the  sudden  loss  of 
the  fleet,  which  had  perished  without  striking  a blow, 


A RESCUE  IN  SPACE 


351 


President  Wando  gazed  at  his  lieutenants  helplessly. 
An  amazing  and  incredible  thing  had  happened  before 
their  eyes.  In  a surge  of  hopelessness  each  saw  that 
such  a foe  was  unconquerable.  There  was  no  hope  for 
the  proud  race  of  Mars.  President  Wando  believed 
this — ^yet  as  the  chosen  head  of  his  people  he  must  fight 
their  battles  to  the  last.  He  must  obtain  the  best  pos- 
sible concessions.  He  would  parley  with  the  enemy. 

To  the  President’s  amazement  and  consternation  the 
answer  to  this  polite  but  militant  message  came  from 
Luban  himself,  emperor  of  Venus.  It  was  the  first 
voice  that  had  come  from  the  grim  beast  above. 

“We  demand  the  immediate  and  unconditional  sur- 
render of  Mars,”  came  the  thundering  voice  over  the 
radio.  “We  do  not  desire  to  slay  your  people.  We 
spared  the  lives  of  your  aerial  soldiers,  and  would  have 
spared  your  ships  had  you  appealed  to  us.  But  unless 
our  demands  are  granted  we  shall  destroy  your  people 
and  take  possession  of  this  planet.” 

Again  panic  seized  the  council  chamber  of  the  Mar- 
tians. The  startling  demands  of  the  conquerors  radioed 
around  the  globe  brought  an  immediate  deluge  of  frantic 
requests  that  they  be  met.  There  seemed  to  be  no  other 
recourse.  Horrified  and  impotent  in  the  face  of  the 
monster  the  terror-stricken  people  implored  their  gov- 
ernment not  to  further  jeopardize  their  lives  by  resist- 
ing the  foe.  Only  the  President  and  his  brave  fighters 
still  clung  to  hope. 

“We  beg  a few  days  to  consider  your  remarkable 
proposition,”  radioed  the  President  at  last. 

After  an  anxious  half  hour  interval  the  answer  came 
in  the  gruff  tones  of  the  emperor. 

"We  will  give  you  four  days,”  he  said.  "And  re- 
member that  is  the  absolute  limit.” 

CHAPTER  m 

The  Advent  of  Melvin  Blue 

A T this  time,  millions  of  miles  distant,  Melvin  Blue’s 
/A  space-flyer.  Sky  Queen,  was  rushing  toward 
Mars.  After  years  of  patient  effort  and  failure, 
the  powers  of  the  earth,  headed  by  America,  had  given 
their  consent  to  his  daring  plan.  He  would  establish 
friendly  relations  and  commercial  intercourse  with  the 
Martians.  Mars,  although  superior  to  the  earth  in 
science  and  civilization,  had  always  looked  askance  at 
the  world  of  the  Earthling,  fearing  the  commercial  spirit 
of  that  money-mad  tribe.  Mars  had  been  in  radio  com- 
munication with  the  earth  for  hundreds  of  years,  but 
no  Martian  space-flyer  had  ever  visited  it,  and  the  few 
that  had  left  the  earth  Mars  bound  had  been  lost  some- 
where in  the  great  ocean  of  space. 

But  the  sailors  of  space  have  no  landmarks  and  no 
proved  charts  to  guide  them  across  the  yawning  gulf  of 
nothingness.  No  friendly  beacons  send  their  beams 
across  the  sky.  No  pilot  boats  venture  across  the  reef 
to  guide  them  into  port. 

Anxiously  Melvin  Blue  and  his  navigator  bent  over 
a large  solar  map  in  the  chart  room  of  the  Sky  Queen. 
They  were  not  exactly  sure  of  their  position.  In  the 
great  void  of  space  their  craft  might  pursue  an  endless 
course  to  the  port  of  eternity.  Many  worlds,  great  and 


small,  had  swirled  past  them,  and  fiery  meteor  trains — 
those  hurtling  fragments  of  worlds  which  they  could 
not  assign  their  proper  place  in  the  heavens  because  un- 
accountably their  commimication  with  the  earth  had 
ceased. 

“I  reckon  we’ll  have  to  turn  back,  Mr.  Blue,”  finally 
said  the  navigator  straightening  up  and  looking  at  his 
employer  with  an  expression  of  despair.  “But  I’ll  be 
hanged  if  I like  to  do  it.” 

“Nor  I,”  said  Melvin  Blue.  "Now  let’s—” 

“There  is  a queer  speck  just  off  the  port  bow,  sir,” 
suddenly  announced  the  lookout  in  the  control  room. 

Melvin  Blue  stared  at  the  transmitter. 

“A  meteor,  isn’t  it?”  he  called  back. 

“No  sir.  The  thing  is  a bright  red  with  a bright  sil- 
ver stripe  about  the  middle,  and  it  is  hanging  mo- 
tionless.” 

Followed  by  his  navigator,  Melvin  Blue  rushed  to  the 
control  room,  glanced  at  the  television  screen  and  then 
glued  his  eyes  to  the  bow  binoculars.  Although  many 
miles  distant,  the  powerful  glasses  quickly  defined  the 
object.  It  was  indeed,  an  odd  looking  bundle  to  be 
found  afloat  in  space.  A round,  barrel-like  body  of 
red  tapering  down  to  a round,  purple-colored  end.  And 
midway  about  the  body  was  a bright  metal  band  which 
shimmered  and  flashed  in  the  sun’s  rays. 

“Throttle  down,”  ordered  Melvin  Blue.  "We  will 
investigate.” 

The  Sky  Queen’s  terrific  speed  was  checked  almost 
instantly,  the  retarding  motors  working  smoothly  and 
silently.  But  so  great  was  the  momentum  that  she  was 
carried  past  the  object  a score  of  miles  before  she  could 
be  checked  sufficiently  to  turn  back  under  the  full  force 
of  the  retarders.  But  finally  she  was  brought  to  a stand 
beside  the  isolated  speck  in  space. 

A port  was  opened  quickly  by  compressed  air,  a grap- 
ple swung  out  and  in  the  fraction  of  a minute  the  metal- 
cased  object  was  swung  aboard.  Then  the  nose  of  the 
great,  slender  craft  was  again  put  upon  her  course,  the 
motors  started  and  the  Sky  Queen  roared  upon  her  way. 

“Good  God,  it’s  a woman!”  gasped  Blue,  staring 
through  the  thick  glass  of  the  helmet.  “Quick,  we 
must  remove  this  armor!” 

Hastily  the  armor  was  removed  and  the  woman  lifted 
out. 

A dark-haired  girl  with  finely  chiseled  features  and 
a plump  form  reclined  inert  and  limp  in  the  arms  of 
Melvin  Blue.  At  first  he  thought  her  dead,  for  there 
was  neither  respiration  nor  pulse,  but  placing  his  ear 
close  to  her  breast  he  detected  a faint  flutter  of  the 
heart. 

“She  lives,”  he  exclaimed  breathlessly. 

She  was  placed  on  a couch,  the  electric  resuscitator 
and  other  restoratives  applied  by  the  ship’s  doctor,  and 
in  a few  minutes  Melvin  Blue  was  glad  to  see  her  eye- 
lids flutter,  then  open.  She  looked  around  in  a stare 
of  wonder,  then  whispered  something  in  an  unknown 
tongue.  When  they  stared  at  her  without  compre- 
hending she  attempted  to  rise,  but  sank  back  with  a 
moan.  The  doctor  gave  her  a sedative  and  in  a few 
minutes  she  sighed  and  fell  asleep. 

For  two  days  she  slept  soundly  while  the  space-flyer 
roared  on,  and  Melvin  Blue,  sleepless  and  filled  with 


352 


WONDER 

wonderment,  hardly  allowed  his  eyes  to  wander  away 
from  her.  The  odd  armor  that  had  encased  her  when 
found,  her  discovery  alone  in  the  cold  of  outer  space, 
millions  of  miles  from  any  known  world  and  her  rare 
beauty  and  form  that  spoke  of  a high  state  of  culture 
and  refinement,  formed  a hopeless  puzzle.  And  he 
watched  the  returning  glow  of  life  in  her  cheeks  with 
sighs  of  gratitude.  Already  he  felt  that  this  girl’s  life 
was  more  precious  to  him  than  his  own.  Never  before 
had  love  of  woman  appealed  to  him.  He  had  been  too 
busy  with  his  inventions  to  think  of  the  fair  sex.  And 
now  the  Sky  Queen  embodied  the  essence  of  all  his 
talent.  He  had  evolved  a super  vessel  which,  should 
the  test  be  successful,  he  would  present  to  his  govern- 
ment, confident  tha  tshe  could  master  any  space-flyer 
extant. 

The  Girl  Explains 

ON  the  third  day  the  girl  awoke.  The  dullness  had 
left  her  eyes  and  she  smiled  at  those  bending 
above  her  couch.  Again  she  spoke  in  that  odd,  unin- 
telligible tongue. 

Again  they  stared  and  shook  their  heads. 

“Forgive  me.  I should  have  known  better  than  to 
address  you  in  the  langu^e  of  my  people,”  she  con- 
tinued in  the  interplanetarian  speech  that  had  been 
evolved  by  radio  connections  with  different  worlds. 
“Who  are  you?”  asked  Melvin  Blue. 

“I  am  Zola,  only  child  of  President  Wando  of  Mars.” 
They  all  stared  in  amazement. 

“Why  we  are  on  our  way  to  Mars,”  finally  said  Mel- 
vin Blue.  “At  least  we  think  we  are,”  he  added  doubt- 
fully. “This  morning  I ‘shot’  the  sun,  but  we  are  not 
sure  of  our  reckoning,  and  consider  turning  back  unless 
we  can  find  ourselves  soon.” 

“May  I see  your  chart?”  asked  the  girl. 

A chart  was  brought  to  her.  She  studied  it  carefully 
for  a few  minutes,  comparing  it  with  the  navigator’s 
figures.  Then  she  took  the  pencil  which  Melvin  Blue 
tendered  her,  and  after  a few  minutes’  figuring  an- 
nounced : 

“Allowing  for  the  probable  ether  drift  and  the  de- 
flection from  your  course  in  picking  me  up  I figure 
you  are  off  but  a point.” 

The  course  was  changed  to  conform  to  her  calcula- 
tions— for  Melvin  Blue  clearly  recognized  her  ability 
as  a space  navigator  without  knowing  why.  Then  he 
asked ; 

“Pray  tell  me  how  you  came  to  be  in  such  a pre- 
dicament ?” 

“Carelessness,”  she  answered  with  a wry  smile. 
“Every  man  and  woman  of  Mars  is  a trained  aerial 
soldier.  He  is  taught  to  wear  our  red  armor  and  fight 
by  its  aid.  Two  weeks  ago  I was  a member  of  a peace 
ship  sent  out  to  meet  a like  vessel  from  Venus  to  nego- 
tiate a treaty  between  Mars  and  that  planet — which  by 
the  way  covets  our  great  stores  of  minerals.  But  owing 
to  some  miscalculation  we  missed  each  other. 

“After  scouting  about  for  a day  we  set  out  for  home. 
An  improvement  to  the  gravity  nullifier  of  our  armor 
had  just  been  perfected  by  our  commander.  I had 
donned  the  suit  to 'test  out  the  controlling  mechanism, 
and  he  had  left  me  for  a moment  to  secure  some  article. 


STORIES 

I was  leaning  against  a closed  port.  Suddenly  and  with- 
out warning  it  swung  open  and  precipitated  me  into 
space.  As  I swung  away  from  the  side  of  the  rapidly 
moving  ship  I realized  that  some  one  had  carelessly 
left  the  port  unlocked,  and  that  I was  floating  alone 
in  the  awful  depths  of  spcae.  A great  swarm  of  Leonids 
were  passing  between  us  and  the  sun,  so  the  blackness 
of  night  was  about  me.  In  a twinkling  I saw  the  lights 
of  the  fast  receding  ship  vanish  in  the  darkness,  but  I 
did  not  give  myself  up  for  lost. 

“Doubtless  they  would  return  to  look  for  me ; but  I 
was  swirled  away  in  an  unknown  direction,  probably 
influenced  by  the  swirling  rush  of  the  Leonids.  I was 
not  prepared  for  a long  voyage,  having  no  directional 
finder  with  me,  but  as  every  suit  of  armor  is  constantly 
kept  supplied  with  ten  days’  rations  of  food,  air  and 
water  and  is  insulated  against  the  intense  cold  I was 
able  to  keep  alive.  But  when  the  night  wore  on  and 
day  broke  again  with  no  sign  of  my  companions’  ship 
I gave  myself  up  for  lost.  Two  days  ago  I consumed 
the  last  of  the  food  and  water  and  nearly  all  my  air. 
You,  sir,  found  me  just  in  time.  You  have  saved  my 
life.” 

“I  am  only  too  happy  that  it  is  so,”  said  Melvin  Blue 
gallantly.  “I  shall  be  honored  and  happy  to  take  you 
home.” 

“Thank  you.  I feel  that  I can  never  repay  your  kind- 
ness,” she  said  with  emotion.  “But  you  may  be  too 
late.  Perhaps  I have  no  home.  I fear  that  already  we 
are  at  war  with  Venus;  that  already  my  people  are 
crushed  by  the  power  of  The  Spectacles.” 

“The  Spectacles!”  he  exclaimed. 

“Yes,  the  most  horrid  and  most  powerful  aerial  beast 
in  the  universe.  It  is  said  to  be  invincible  and  led  by 
the  powers  of  darkness.  Perhaps  you  should  not  take 
me  home,”  she  added  fearfully.  “It  might  cost  you  your 
life,  the  destruction  of  this  noble  ship.  I cannot  ask 
you  to  sacrifice  so  much  for  me.  Please,  turn  back  be- 
fore it  is  too  late.”  And  the  girl  shuddered  as  she 
pressed  her  hands  tightly  over  her  eyes. 

“My  dear  young  lady,”  encouraged  Melvin  Blue. 
“Now  I remember  having  heard  of  The  Spectacles. 
Once  that  redoubtable  craft  came  near  the  atmosphere 
of  the  earth  and  sent  us  an  insolent  message.  However, 
we  ignored  it.  Put  your  trust  in  the  Sky  Queen.  I 
do  not  fear  The  Spectacles.  And,  besides,  I have  set 
out  to  take  you  home.” 

The  girl’s  eyes  glowed  with  admiration  as  she  noted 
his  firm  lips  and  the  grim  set  of  his  fighting  jaw. 

“I  beg  to  report,  sir,  that  we  have  just  sighted  a space- 
flyer,”  said  an  officer  entering  hur'riedly.  “She  is  about 
to  cross  our  bows  and  I fancy  by  her  actions  that  she 
wishes  to  speak  to  us.” 

“Reduce  the  speed  in  half,”  commanded  Blue,  follow- 
ing his  aid  from  the  room. 

The  television  screen  in  the  control  cabin  showed  a 
large  liner  of  peculiar  construction  speeding  obliquely 
toward  them.  Again  their  speed  was  cut  in  half  as  they 
observed  the  stranger  to  do  likewise. 

“What  ship  is  that?”  suddenly  came  the  challenge 
over  the  radio  in  the  interplanetarian  tongue. 

“Sky  Queen  of  Boston  on  the  earth,”  returned  Melvin 
Blue. 


A RESCUE  IN  SPACE 


353 


“Where  bound  and  for  what  purpose?” 

“To  Mars  to  establish  commercial  relations  with  the 
earth.  May  I ask  what  ship  is  yours  ?” 

“The  Rounder  from  Venus.  We  are  friends  of  earth 
and  would  come  aboard,”  said  the  man  from  Venus. 

“Permission  is  granted,”  said  Melvin  Blue  crisply  as 
he  returned  to  Zola. 

The  ship  from  Venus  cut  a great  circle  and  soon  was 
sailing  close  above  the  Sky  Queen  at  exactly  the  same 
speed.  Lower  she  dropped  until  only  a few  yards  sepa- 
rated the  two  space-flyers.  Then  a small  ladder  was 
dropped  from  a port  in  the  Rounder’s'  bottom,  and  a 
heavily  set  man  came  down  it  rapidly.  A door  in  the 
Sky  Queen’s  top  opened  to  receive  him,  then  closed 
quickly  as  he  entered.  An  officer  conducted  him  to 
Melvin  Blue. 

The  fat,  round  face  of  the  man  from  Venus  beamed 
as  his  pale  eyes  fell  on  the  girl. 

“The  television  screen  showed  us  this  lovely  maiden,” 
he  said  in  oily  accents,  “but  it  did  not  reveal  half  the 
beauty.”  He  bowed  low,  making  a comical  figure  in  his 
tight  uniform  of  gray.  “May  I ask  an  introduction?” 

“I  am  Zola  from  Mars,”  said  the  girl  proudly,  ris- 
ing and  confronting  the  officer.  She  swayed,  but  Melvin 
Blue  stepped  quickly  forward  and  supported  her. 

"Ah,  yes,”  said  the  officer.  “I  regret  to  inform  you 
that  my  people  and  yours  are  at  war.” 

"Then  it  has  come  at  last,”  she  gasped.  “And  is — 
is  that  terrible  air  monster  there  over  my  beloved 
home  ?” 

“To  be  sure,  my  dear  Miss.  I am  glad  to  state  that 
The  Spectacles  has  the  situation  well  in  hand.  There 
has  been  a battle  and  of  course  your  people  have  been 
worsted.” 

The  girl  trembled  in  Melvin  Blue’s  arms. 

"And  now,  sir,  you  must  turn  back  to  the  earth,” 
went  on  the  man  from  Venus,  turning  to  the  owner  of 
the  Sky  Queen.  “Our  patrol  forms  a ring  around  Mars 
beyond  which  none  may  pass.  As  a friend  I warn  you, 
sir,  to  turn  back  at  once.  If  you  proceed  you  will  only 
invite  a sudden  and  terrible  death.  It  will  be  my  pleas- 
ure to  take  charge  of  this  young  lady  and  convey  her 
safely  to  her  people.” 

“What  is  your  pleasure?”  asked  the  owner  of  the 
Sky  Queen,  looking  into  the  eyes  of  the  girl.  For  an- 
swer she  shrank  closer  in  his  arms. 

“You  go  to  hell,”  said  Melvin  Blue  with  true  Yankee 
vigor  as  he  turned  fiercely  on  his  visitor. 

The  officer  stared  blankly.  Melvin  Blue  nodded  to 
a grinning  aid  standing  by  the  door.  With  a firm  grip 
he  seized  the  man  by  the  shoulder  and  conducted  him 
from  the  room.  And  then  when  he  was  safely  aboard 
his  own  craft  the  space-flyers  drew  apart  and  the  Sky 
Queen  resumed  her  course  toward  Mars. 

However,  she  was  not  to  proceed  unmolested.  Sud- 
denly the  golden-hued  ship  of  Venus  began  to  sparkle 
and  flame  with  white  fire  as  she  fell  in  behind  the  Sky 
Queen.  Melvin  Blue,  gazing  at  the  television,  only 
smiled  as  he  ordered  the  electric  armor  to  surround  his 
ship  which  began  to  lead  the  way  at  a tremendous  speed. 
But  the  following  craft  was  not  to  be  outdone  so  easily. 
She,  too,  put  on  more  power  and  pressed  closely  after 
the  Sky  Queen  as  she  noted  the  futility  of  her  rays. 


On  and  on  through  they  raced  with  no  appreciable 
advantage  on  either  side.  Then  the  Sky  Queen,  gradu- 
ally at  first,  then  by  leaps  and  bounds,  began  to  draw 
away  from  her  pursuer,  imtil  it  was  left  far  behind. 

The  scout  patrol  ship  of  Venus  was  seen  no  more 
during  the  remaining  two  days  that  it  took  to  complete 
the  voyage  to  Mars. 

CHAPTER  IV 

A Warning 

Sunset  of  the  third  day  found  them  spiraling 
slowly  downward  above  the  red  planet.  Side  by 
side  Zola  and  Melvin  Blue  watched  plain  and  moun- 
tain and  sea  take  form  beneath  them,  and  then  suddenly 
from  behind  a mountain  ridge  they  saw  the  huge  yellow 
bulk  of  The  Spectacles  poised  motionless,  silent  and 
grim  above  the  forts. 

“Stop!”  exclaimed  the  girl.  “Allow  me  to  glide 
down  in  my  armor.  Likely  I shall  not  be  molested,  for 
I think  there  is  a truce.  But  I see  no  signs  of  warfare. 
I ask  you  not  to  risk  a battle  with  that  terrible,  yellow 
monster.” 

“I  am  neither  seeking  trouble  nor  running  away  from 
it,”  smiled  Melvin  Blue.  “And  I have  set  out  to  take 
you  home.  You  say  that  the  landing  field  nearest  that 
round,  central  fort  will  best  suit  your  convenience. 
That’s  where  we  land.” 

“Thank  you,”  murmured  the  girl. 

No  more  was  said  until  they  had  gently  come  to  rest 
near  the  fort. 

“Remember,  I have  your  promise  to  visit  us,”  she 
said  as  he  helped  her  from  the  ship.  “I  want  to  present 
you  to  my  father  that  he  may  thank  you  for  your  great 
service  to  me.” 

“It  is  nothing,  and  the  honor  is  all  mine,”  he  said 
simply.  “I  shall  be  glad  to  avail  myself  of  your  kind 
invitation.” 

She  pressed  his  hand,  then  turned  and  ran  up  one 
of  the  rock  buttresses  of  the  fort.  She  took  a few  steps 
along  the  gray  walk  beneath  the  hooded  ports,  then 
stopped  before  one.  Turning  she  waved  her  hand  at 
her  rescuer,  then  disappeared  within. 

Immediately  the  Sky  Queen  soared  into  the  air,  while 
Melvin  Blue  carefully  scanned  The  Spectacles  for  signs 
of  life,  particularly  did  his  searching  eyes  linger  on 
the  great,  green  orbs  that  glared  down  balefully.  All 
this  time  the  mysterious  craft  had  remained  stationary. 
So  calm  and  lifeless  did  it  appear  that  it  seemed  more 
like  a model  carved  from  a gigantic  block  of  gold  than 
an  engine  of  war. 

Melvin  Blue  was  amazed.  He  could  not  conjecture 
why  he  had  not  been  attacked.  All  about  was  the  silence 
of  the  tomb.  There  were  no  signs  of  strife  or  prepara- 
tion for  war.  Sedate  and  calm,  like  an  angel  monarch 
guarding  the  destinies  of  worlds.  The  Spectacles  main- 
tained its  position.  Only  its  great  eyes  flashed  with 
greenish  fire  as  the  Sky  Queen  rose  majestically  into 
the  sky. 

Suddenly  the  call  letters  of  the  interplanetarian  code 
bellowed  from  the  radio. 

“Earth  being,  take  your  craft  and  depart  at  once  if 


354 


WONDER 

you  would  live,”  came  the  startling  order  as  Melvin 
Blue  stared.  “Luban,  Emperor  of  Venus,  orders.” 

As  the  Sky  Queen  soared  high  above  The  Spectacles 
Melvin  Blue  gazed  down  at  the  green  eyes  speculatively. 
Now  he  had  seen  them  both  from  above  and  below. 
On  both  sides  they  were  concave,  sloping  sharply  to 
a thin  center,  and  as  he  watched  the  swirling  green  fire 
he  concluded  that  they  formed  the  heart  and  the  soul 
of  the  ship,  and  that  she  was  sustained,  driven  and 
armored  with  cosmic  rays.  Immense  as  the  eyes  were — 
being  fully  two  hundred  feet  in  diameter — ^he  believed 
them  to  be  composed  of  a fine  net-work  of  antenna  and 
frail  mirrors  which  had  the  power  of  absorbing,  ampli- 
fying and  directing  the  cosmic  rays.  That  she  carried 
some  powerful  ray  machine  he  did  not  doubt,  but  as  she 
drove  edgewise  through  the  air,  he  conjectured  that  the 
rays  were  projected  only  horizontally.  As  they  passed 
on  a grim  smile  wrinkled  his  bronzed  face. 

Luban  was  not  feared  by  Melvin  Blue.  So  but  a 
mile  away  at  an  altitude  of  only  two  miles  the  Sky  Queen 
came  to  rest.  She  was  not  a formidable  looking  craft, 
appearing  like  a slender,  elongated  cigar  set  against  the 
blue.  Her  long,  needle-like  nose  was  heavily  cased  with 
solene — ^the  hardest,  lightest,  toughest  metal  known  to 
man — and  the  same  shining  metal  sheathed  her  from 
end  to  end.  With  closed  ports  she  presented  an  ex- 
terior smooth  as  glass,  almost  as  hard  as  the  diamond 
and,  like  the  diamond,  capable  of  passing  trial  by  fire. 
Propelled  solely  by  electricity,  which  her  motors  gath- 
ered from  the  air  and  the  ether  as  she  drove  on,  she 
was  capable  of  tremendous  speed. 

“Who  are  you,  and  what  is  your  purpose  here?” 
again  came  the  coarse  voice  of  Luban.  Melvin  Blue 
smiled. 

“I  am  Melvin  Blue  of  the  United  States  on  earth,  at 
your  service,  sir,”  he  shot  back.  “Who  wants  to  know  ?” 
“I  am  Luban,  the  Great,  Emperor  of  all  Venus,” 
came  the  proud  answer.  “We  are  on  a mission  of  war 
— Mars  lies  supine  and  helpless  at  our  feet — and  at  this 
time  we  tolerate  the  presence  of  neither  friend  nor  foe. 
But  as  we  are  at  peace  with  the  earth,  I do  not  wish  to 
harm  you.  Therefore  you  will  kindly  leave  at  once.” 
“You  are  very  kind,”  said  Melvin  Blue  sarcastically. 
“But  having  not  as  yet  discharged  my  mission  I would 
tarry  yet  a while.  If — ” 

He  stopped  abruptly. 

“Will  the  captain  of  the  Sky  Queen  honor  me  with 
his  presence?”  interrupted  a pleasant  voice.  “President 
Wando,  speaking.” 

“I  shall  be  delighted,”  returned  Melvin  Blue. 

A Terrible  Bargain 

IT  was  the  work  of  but  a few  minutes  to  again  land 
the  Sky  Queen.  A guard  came  out  of  one  of  the 
hooded  ports  and  conducted  her  master  to  the  council 
chamber  where  sat  President  Wando  beside  his  daughter. 

“How  can  we  ever  repay  your  great  kindness  ?”  said 
the  President,  extending  his  hand.  “My  daughter  has 
told  me  all.  Although  now  at  war  and  in  poor  state  to 
extend  our  hospitality,  I assure  you  that  all  Mars  is  at 
your  command.” 

“You  flatter  me,”  said  Melvin  Blue.  “The  service 


STORIES 

was  nothing,  and  I am  only  too  glad — ” 

He  checked  and  turned  toward  the  portal  following 
the  President’s  intense  stare.  A newcomer  resplendent 
in  gold  lace  and  flashing  medals,  unaccompanied  by 
even  an  aid,  was  striding  proudly  up  the  aisle.  He  was 
a portly  man  short  of  stature,  with  a moon-like  face 
and  great,  protruding  eyes. 

“I  am  Emperor  Luban  of  Venus,”  he  declared  pomp- 
ously, stopping  in  front  of  the  President  and  regarding 
him  with  a leer  of  insolence. 

“You  honor  us,  though  you  come  uninvited,”  said  the 
President  graciously,  motioning  the  Emperor  to  a chair. 

“It  is  not  meet  for  me  to  sit  before  the  great,”  he 
said  mockingly  as  his  saucer-like  eyes  fell  on  Zola  and 
set  there  in  a warm  stare  of  admiration.  “May  I have 
the  honor  of  an  introduction  ?”  he  added,  casting  a bale- 
ful glance  at  Melvin  Blue. 

“My  daughter,  Zola,”  said  the  President  stiffly. 

The  Emperor  extended  a fat  hand  which  Zola  scarcely 
touched  as  she  shrank  back  involuntarily  and  stepped 
closer  to  her  rescuer. 

“The  time  of  the  truce  has  nearly  expired,”  said  the 
Emperor  without  taking  his  eyes  from  the  girl.  “I 
trust  you  people  are  ready  to  agree  to  our  demands.” 

“We  are  not  ready,”  said  President  Wando  firmly. 
“We  crave  more  time  to  ponder  such  a momentous 
question.” 

“I  will  give  you  no  more  time,”  said  the  Emperor 
harshly.  “Unless  you  agree  to  my  terms  by  noon  to- 
morrow The  Spectacles  will  lay  waste  your  planet  and 
reduce  your  people  to  slavery.” 

Although  Zola  had  stepped  aside  and  was  earnestly 
talking  to  Melvin  Blue  the  master  of  Venus  followed 
her  every  movement  with  his  eyes — eyes  that  glowed 
with  a gloating,  evil  light. 

President  Wando  made  no  answer.  He  just  sat  gaz- 
ing at  the  repulsive  face  of  his  enemy. 

“I  object  to  the  presence  of  this — ^Earthling,”  con- 
tinued the  Emperor,  frowning  at  the  owner  of  the  Sky 
Queen.  “He  has  no  business  to  witness  our  affairs  of 
state.  I have  ordered  him  to  begone,  and  shall  attend 
to  him  shortly.” 

Melvin  Blue’s  face  went  white  with  anger,  then  he 
mastered  himself  and  came  up  to  President  Wando. 

“Pardon  me,  Mr.  President,”  he  said,  “but  as  our 
interview  has  been  rudely  interrupted  I shall  withdraw. 
However,  I shall  be  happy  to  call  again  at  a more  op- 
portune time.” 

“There  will  be  no  other  time,”  cut  in  the  Emperor 
meaningly. 

Pretending  not  to  hear  the  insolent  remark  Melvin 
Blue  bowed  to  the  President  and  his  daughter  and  with- 
drew. But  as  he  went  he  whispered  to  the  girl  that  he 
would  come  again. 

“Would  you  free  your  people  from  the  serfdom  that 
now  threatens?”  went  on  the  Emperor.  “Would  you 
have  me  withdraw  The  Spectacles  and  leave  your  world 
in  peace?”  The  President  stared.  “Your  daughter  is 
fair  to  look  upon,”  continued  the  Emperor.  “I  would 
have  her  for  my  queen.” 

Zola  shrank  back  with  a gasping  cry,  while  the  Presi- 
dent stared  in  amazement. 

“I  will  leave  you  now  to  consider  my  proposition,” 


A RESCUE  IN  SPACE 


35S 


said  the  tyrant.  “But  at  nine  o’clock  to-morrow  fore- 
noon I must  have  my  answer.” 

Without  further  words  the  Emperor  turned  away 
and  stalked  haughtily  from  the  chamber,  went  to  his 
plane  and  flew  back  to  the  deck  of  The  Spectacles. 

“You  heard  what  he  said,  my  daughter,”  finally  said 
the  President  in  a hollow  voice. 

“The  hideous  monster !”  she  cried.  “I  would  sooner 
die  a thousand  times  than  to  become  his  queen.” 

“Yet  you  would  sacrifice  all  for  your  country,”  he 
reminded  gently,  “even  to  life  itself.  Emperor  Luban 
is  mighty.  He  offers  us  either  life  or  death,  freedom 
or  slavery.  He  will  keep  his  word,  and  despite  reports 
to  the  contrary,  he  may  not  be  so  bad,  after  all.” 
“Father !”  she  choked.  “How  can  you  think  of  such 
a thing!  I could  never  love  such  a horrid  being.  I 
could  never — ” 

“But  think  of  Mars,  my  child,”  he  interposed  hur- 
riedly. “Think  of  the  welfare  of  millions  of  your 
countrymen  now  in  your  keeping.  I do  not  ask  you  to 
accept  Luban’s  proposition  off  hand,  I only  ask  that 
you  give  it  serious  thought.  There  seems  to  be  no  other 
way  to  free  us  of  the  despotic  yoke  of  Venus,”  he  added 
bitterly. 

Zola  turned  away  and  sought  her  room.  Well  she 
knew  her  father’s  wish.  He  would  not  willingly  sac- 
rifice her,  but  above  all  the  welfare  of'  this  people  lay 
close  to  his  heart. 

Sleepless  and  miserable  she  wrangled  with  the 
problem  throughout  the  night,  and  always  she  knew 
that  those  terrible  green  eyes  were  glaring  down  at  her 
beloved  land.  But  as  the  red  sun  rose  over  the  bleak 
hills  she  took  the  situation  in  hand.  She  would  appeal 
to  Melvin  Blue. 

In  her  soldier  armor  she  rose  to  the  long,  silver  ship 
that  glistened  like  a jewel  in  the  rays  of  the  sun.  Its 
master  saw  her  coming  and  let  her  in  as  he  stared  at  her 
in  wonder.  Briefly  she  made  known  her  dilemma.  But 
scarcely  had  she  ceased  speaking  when  the  loud,  raucous 
voice  of  Luban  crackled  from  the  radio. 

“The  young  man  from  the  earth,”  he  rapped  out, 
“will  kindly  permit  the  maiden,  Zola,  to  return  to  her 
father  at  once,  or  I shall  let  loose  the  awful  power  of 
The  Spectacles.  And  after  the  young  lady  has  departed 
you  will  at  once  turn  the  nose  of  your  ship  toward  the 
far  off  earth.” 

“And  if  I refuse?”  asked  Melvin  Blue. 

“Then  I shall  send  you  down  with  the  terrible  rays 
of  The  Spectacles — ^gently,  of  course,  for  the  maiden’s 
sake.  But  after  she  has  departed  from  your  craft  it 
shall  be  consumed  like  a wisp  of  steam  in  a furnace.” 
“Miss  Zola  is  my  guest  and  I shall  protect  her  as 
such,”  said  Melvin  Blue.  “I  refuse  to  obey  your 
orders.” 

“Then  prepare  to  feel  my  power,”  rasped  Luban. 

In  the  television  screen  they  saw  that  his  fat  face  was 
purple  with  rage.  He  gave  rapid  orders  to  his  officers 
clustering  about  him.  Then  The  Spectacles  began  to 
rise  at  a tremendous  speed  straight  into  the  air. 

Zola  looked  at  her  rescuer  with  terror-stricken  eyes. 
“You  must  not  sacrifice  yourself  and  men  for  me,” 


she  said.  “Let  me  into  the  air  and  I will  go  home,” 
she  went  on,  gazing  at  the  great,  golden  monster.  “See, 
they  are  coming  up  to  our  level,  then  they  will  rush  for- 
ward and  smite  us  with  the  awful  fire  that  snuffed  out 
the  brave  ships  of  Mars.” 

“Luban  is  coming  up  to  our  level,  all  right,”  said 
Melvin  Blue  calmly.  -“But  when  he  strikes  I fancy  we 
will  be  like  the  Irishman’s  flea.” 

“Like  the  Irishman’s  flea!”  she  exclaimed. 

“Yes — we  will  be  somewhere  else.” 

It  took  The  Spectacles  but  a few  moments  to  reacK 
the  three  mile  level  where  rode  the  Sky  Queen. 

Melvin  Blue  gave  a few  sharp  orders,  then  the  Sky 
Queen  dove  straight  down,  but  owing  to  the  gyroscopic 
mountings  each  compartment  of  the  ship  maintained 
its  normal  level.  Down,  down  at  terrific  speed  she 
plunged  like  a streak  of  silver  in  the  bright  sunshine. 
It  seemed  that  they  must  crash  on  the  sharp  rocks  ris- 
ing so  swiftly  to  meet  them.  Zola  was  clinging  in  ter- 
ror to  the  Sky  Queen’s  master  when  the  craft  suddenly 
straightened  out  and  shot  to  a position  directly  beneath 
The  Spectacles.  Then  she  turned  upward  and  rushed 
with  full  speed,  straight  as  an  arrow  toward  the  center 
of  one  of  the  green  eyes. 

Melvin  Blue  was  taking  a desperate  chance,  but  he  felt 
that  circumstances  justified  it.  He  would  cripple  and 
destroy  his  antagonist  by  striking  at  his  heart.  All  ports 
of  the  Sky  Queen  were  closed,  and  like  a great,  silver 
needle  she  shot  to  the  mark.  There  was  a grinding 
hiss,  a thunderous  roar,  and  then  in  a moment  it  was 
over.  Looking  down,  they  beheld,  in  place  of  the 
glowing,  green  eye,  a fire-rimmed,  smoking  hole. 

For  a moment  the  great  ship  of  Venus  wobbled 
crazily,  then  she  was  righted  but  began  to  spin  around 
and  around  like  a giant  top. 

Smiling  grimly  Melvin  Blue  checked  the  upward 
flight  of  the  Sky  Queen,  then  he  turned  her  over  end 
for  end,  and  straight  as  a plummet  she  dove  down 
toward  the  remaining  eye  of  The  Spectacles.  A mo- 
ment later  she  had  emerged  below  and  the  pride  of 
Venus,  broken  and  sightless,  was  staggering  like  a 
drunken  man.  Then  in  a moment  she  began  to  careen 
and  fall  ini  a zig  zag  line  toward  the  rocks.  As  they 
watched  breathlessly  she  struck  amidship  on  a sharp 
peak  and  broke  in  two. 

The  Sky  Queen  came  to  rest  near  the  sea  as  the  awe- 
struck, but  grateful  Martians  poured  from  the  forts 
and  stared  at  the  funeral  pyre  of  their  enemy.  Slender 
tongues  of  flame  shot  high  in  the  air  and  great  clouds 
of  white  smoke  rose  from  the  golden  sides. 

At  last  President  Wando  managed  to  wedge  himself 
through  the  crowd  to  where  Zola  and  Melvin  Blue  stood 
beside  his  ship.  Unable  to  speak  for  a moment  he  could 
only  grasp  his  savior’s  hand. 

“You  have  saved  our  world,”  he  managed  to  say  at 
last.  The  scourge  of  the  skies  is  no  more  and  Mars 
is  forever  free.  My  dear  sir,  to  you  we  owe  a debt  of 
gratitude  that  we  can  never  repay.” 

“I  consider  myself  more  than  repaid  already,”  said 
Melvin  Blue  as  Zola,  pressed  closer  to  his  side. 

For  a moment  President  Wando  stared,  then  his  eyes 
{Continued  on  page  365) 


(.Illustration  by  Leonard) 


The  tiny  ship  of  destruction  struck  the  house;  a heavy  explosion  rocked  the  countryside.  We 

felt  our  plane  staggering. 

356 


THE  TORPEDO  TERROR 
By  the  Author  of  Freedom  of  the  Skies’* 


T was  the  fifteenth  of  October,  1939.  I had  come 
close  to  the  end  of  my  rope  in  the  office  of  the 
World-Bulletin  when  the  irate  city  editor,  Spencer, 
bawled  the  life  out  of  me  for  having  missed  out 
on  a story.  For  days  afterward  I had  suffered  a 
mental  depression  which  almost  threw  me  on  the  proverbial 
rocks.  Nothing  mattered  to  me.  I had  that  feeling  of  staleness 
and  a disgust  with  life  that  every  reporter  experiences  only  too 
often.  Spencer’s  word-lashing  only  accen- 
tuated it.  It  wasn’t  that  I cared  a hang 
about  the  job,  and  I might  have  been  thank- 
ful at  the  moment  had  he  fired  me  from 
the  sheet.  But  instead  of  firing  me  he  had 
told  me  to  take  a few  days  off  and  rest  up. 

Even  this  did  not  move  me.  I was  at  the 
point  where  I could  not  be  enthused,  and 
when  one  is  in  that  apathetic  state,  he  may 
as  well  risk  his  neck  in  some  daring  ad- 
venture. That  the  adventure  was  soon  to 
come  I had  no  knowledge.  Otherwise  I 
would  never  have  shown  this  lack  of  inter- 
est which  threatened  my  entire  future  as  a 
newspaper  man. 

One  thing  that  had  always  tended  to 
cramp  my  style,  if  I had  any,  was  the 
writing  of  industrial  news.  Spencer  had  a 
weakness  for  "progressive  articles,”  as  he 
called  them,  and  I was  the  goat.  I had 
come  to  know  every  factory  on  the  East 
Side  of  Los  Angeles.  They  constituted  my  beat,  and  to  break 
into  print  with  a police  story  was  a treat  for  me.  Of  course, 
when  there  was  an  explosion  or  a disaster  of  some  sort  I had 
to  write  the  story,  but  nothing  really  exciting  ever  came  of  that 
beat.  Before  I left  the  office  of  tlie  World-Bulletin  that  morn- 
ing, Spencer  called  me  back  to  the  city  desk.  He  was  engaged 
in  his  customary  occupation  of  trying  to  find  a match  in  one 
of  his  pockets,  but  the  old  gleam  was  in  his  eye  again,  and  1 
knew  something  was  up. 

"Edwards,  I want  you  to  follow 
instructions  to  the  letter  and  do 
me  a favor  before  we  go  to 
press.” 

"But  I’m  gone — you  said  I 
could  take  a few  days  off,”  I 
objected. 

He  grinned.  "You  won’t  go 
when  you  hear  this — not  until  it’s 
finished,  my  boyl  I just  got  a 
telephone  call  from  the  Tilden 
Aircraft  Works  saying  something 
funny  is  going  on  around  their 
plant.  Now  you  go  down  there 
and  see  Tilden  Senior,  and  get 
the  story.” 

"I  don’t  know  Tilden,  and  you 
can  send  some  one  else  to  get  the 
story,”  I said,  remembering  the 
day  when  old  Tilden  himself  had 
shouted  at  me  through  the  win- 
dow of  his  office,  "No  visitors 
allowed t”  "That  old  egg  doesn’t 
crave  publicity.  He  has  hated 
reporters  since  that  cub  you  sent 
down  there  wrote  something  about 
his  factory  making  a new  kind  of 
sky  hook.” 


SPENCER  laughed — ^he  was  an  amateur  flyer. 

“Well,  well,  Edwards  1 And  what  do  you  know  about 
airplanes?”  he  demanded. 

“Enough  to  make  my  first  solo  flight  a trip  from  San  Diego 
to  Los  Angeles,”  I boasted,  displaying  the  latest  thing  in  a 
pilot’s  license.  Then  I added,  "That’s  what  I’m  going  to  do 
now — if  old  Tilden  will  give  me  the  use  of  a new  Tourister  lor 
having  unearthed  this  story — if  it  breaks.” 

"Then  you’ll  go?”  the  elated  city  editor 
asked. 

“I’m  gone,  only  don’t  run  a line  about 
this  until  I get  back.  What  did  he  say — 
something  funny  going  on?” 

“More  than  that,  but  you  go  down  and 
see,”  Spencer  answered  as  he  turned  back 
to  his  work. 

From  that  minute  I had  an  incentive.  My 
subconscious  told  me  that  something  worth 
while  was  going  to  transpire.  I did  not 
even  stop  for  lunch,  so  curious  was  I to 
know  just  what  “something  fimny”  hap- 
pened to  be.  This  time,  however,  I walked 
right  into  the  main  office  of  the  Tilden 
factory  and  stood  befwe  a certain  young 
lady  who  had  that  old  Tilden  gleam  in  her 
eyes.  I knew  from  the  minute  she  was  the 
airplane  mamrfacturer’s  daughter,  for  she 
came  out  and  talked  without  flying  around 
the  hangar.  Nadine  was  born  to  fight. 
“Sit  over  there,  Mr.  Edwards,”  she  directed. 

I sat. 

“My  father  isn’t  in.  He  isn’t  excited  about  what  the  workmen 
have  discovered  on  the  premises,  but  it  just  gives  me  the 
willies.” 

“What’s  that — mice?”  I suggested. 

She  gave  me  another  hard-boiled  look,  and  continued,  ignoring 
my  banter.  She  had  words,  but  she  never  wasted  them. 

"We  would  never  have  been 
excited  about  this,  but  for  a 
strange  coincidence.  What  is  hap- 
pening here  has  happened  in  two 
other  airplane  factories  on  the 
coast,”  she  went  on. 

“But  aren’t  you  going  to  tell 
me  what  it  is  1”  I insisted. 

“Don’t  be  in  a hurry,  Mr.  Re- 
porter. I think  we’re  giving  you 
a break  as  it  is.  1 shall  continue.” 
I winced. 

"We  have  found — that  is,  the 
workmen  have  found  — several 
strange  machines  of  an  intricate 
nature  concealed  about  the  fac- 
tory. To  date  we  have  found  five 
of  them,  all  under  the  floor  of  the 
main  assembly  room.  Yon  see,  we 
tore  up  a portion  of  that  floor  to 
make  room  for  a big  Twin,  and 
it  was  then  the  first  one  was 
found.  My  suspicions  were 
aroused,  and  I ordered  the  boys 
to  search  the  entire  plant.  The 
machines,  or  whatever  they  are, 
may  be  dangerous.  I don’t  know. 
I would  never  have  become 
alarmed,  but  when  dad  and  I flew 
up  to  ’Frisco  yesterday  to  place  a 


ESSEX.  HEWTON 


ft/  Y N the  course  of  the  developments  on  air- 
_/  craft  in  the  past  few  years,  it  has  already 
been  determined  quite  satisfactorily  that  it 
is  possible  to  send  an  airplane  into  the  air 
and  guide  it  by  radio  controls.  The  immense 
importance  of  this  in  time  of  war  cannot  be 
overestimated.  For  by  means  of  radio  con- 
trol it  will  then  be  possible  for  a nation  to 
send  over  the  enemy  lines  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  planes  laden  with  high  explo- 
sives and  containing  no  pilots  whatever. 
Thus  at  the  risk  of  no  men  it  will  be  easy  to 
bombard  all  the  enemy’s  great  centers  of 
population. 

One  of  the  necessary  features  in  a plan  like 
this  would  be  some  means  of  really  guiding 
the  plane  to  the  exact  spot  chosen  for  the 
dropping  of  the  bombs.  If  that  difficulty 
could  once  be  overcome,  the  war  of  the 
future  would  be  decided  on  the  ability  of  the 
combating  nations  to  build  more  and  more 
airplanes.  It  wtould  be  literally  a struggle  of 
numbers. 

But  Mr.  Newton  has  his  own  solution  for 
the  difficulty  mentioned  above,  and  incident- 
ally in  working  it  out  he  gives  us  a dramatic 
picture  of  some  problems  the  world  must 
^ face  and  how  they  may  be  overcome.  ^ 


357 


358 


WONDER 

motor  contract,  we  found  that  the  same  thing  had  happened 
there  at  the  Rickman-- Conroff  factory.” 

‘‘Let  me  see  one  of  the  things,”  I requested. 

A Promise 

SHE  got  to  her  feet  and  crossed  the  room  to  another  desk.  I 
followed  her  and  watched  her  open  a large  drawer,  and 
inside  that  drawer  I saw  five  small  boxes  made  of  ebony.  She 
permitted  me  to  examine  one  of  them.  It  was  easy  enough  to 
open  the  box,  but  not  so  easy  to  name  the  apparatus  inside.  The 
six  walls  of  the  box  were  covered  with  the  ordinary  coil  used 
in  radio  sets,  and  the  center  of  the  box  was  filled  with  what 
appeared  to  be  delicate  radio  instruments.  There  were  other 
coils,  a tiny  battery,  apparently  of  a very  high  amperage  and 
voltage  for  its  size,  and  an  ordinary  “peanut”  detector  tube. 
All  of  this  outfit  was  enclosed  inside  that  little  box  which 
measured  nine  inches  square. 

I studied  it  for  awhile,  but  finally  gave  it  up  and  turned  to 
Nadine  with  a shrug. 

“Tell  me  why  those  should  be  found  in  three  airplane  fac- 
tories within  a week,  Edwards?  What  purpose  do  they  serve?” 
I sighed.  “It’s  beyond  me.  Miss  Tilden.  There  are  certainly 
no  explosives  within  these  boxes.” 

“None,”  she  agreed,  watching  me  open  them  one  by  one  and 
search  the  inside.  All  of  them  contained  the  same  strange  deli- 
cate machinery. 

“Somebody  knows  why  those  instruments  are  placed  in  these 
factories,  Edwards — I’ll  call  you  by  your  last  name — and  I 
wish  you  would  find  out.  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?” 

“Turn  them  over  to  the  police  and  write  a story  for  the 
World-Bulletin  about  it,”  I answered. 

She  pounded  her  tightened  fist  upon  the  desk. 

“You  big  simp!  Write  a story?” 

“What  can  I do?”  I demanded.  “If  you  wanted  a detective, 
why  did  you  call  a reporter?” 

She  pushed  me  down  into  a chair  and  sat  on  the  desk,  looking 
down  into  my  face. 

“I  did  call  you  to  write  the  story,  but  I’ve  changed  my  mind. 
I have  a better  idea.” 

“Where  did  you  get  it?” 

“From  you.  You  are  the  industrial  district  reporter.  You 
know  all  the  factories  and  big  business  interests  down  here. 
Every  time  a cargo  plane  comes  down  on  our  landing  roof 
you’re  there  to  tell  the  world  what  a whopper  of  a load  it 
brought  in.  Everytime  someone  closes  a big  deal,  it  is  you 
that  write  about  it.  In  other  words,  you  know  this  district, 
don’t  you?” 

I nodded.  “All  of  it.” 

“Very  well,  search  it.  Get  the  facts  and  take  some  of  my 
men  and  search  this  entire  district.  When  you’re  finished  with 
that  I’ll  take  you  up  to  ’Frisco  to  the  Rickman-Conroff  factory 
and  we’ll  see  how  many  more  of  the  things  they  have  found.” 
“Leave  it  to  me — I’ll  manage  it  better  than  that,”  I promised. 
“If  you  write  a story  about  it  you’ll  put  whoever  is  responsible 
wise.  You’ve  got  to  promise!” 

I DID  promise  Nadine,  however  reluctantly,  that  I would  not 
give  the  story  to  the  paper  until  the  time  was  ripe.  Then  I 
set  off  with  her  to  choose  several  men  from  the  Tilden  factory 
force.  She  pointed  out  seven  whom  we  knew  we  could  trust, 
and  I called  them  all  into  a conference  room  where  I laid  my 
plans  before  them.  We  were  to  inform  the  head  of  every  con- 
cern in  the  district  and  have  them  quietly  search  their  factories 
and  store-rooms  for  the  strange  contraptions.  They  left  hur- 
riedly to  carry  out  orders,  and  Nadine  turned  to  me,  her  eyes 
gleaming. 

“You're  thinking  what  I’m  thinking!”  she  said  firmly. 
“Possibly.” 


STORIES 

She  nodded.  “A  plot  of  some  kind.  Those  machines  don't 
work  alone.” 

“I  don’t  think  they  do.  I think  they  are  part  of  something 
bigger  than  one  would  ordinarily  believe.” 

“You  mean — ” 

“I  don’t  know  what  I mean.  I only  know  I shall  inform 
federal  authorities  if  .this  turns  out  to  be  what  I think.” 

“Then  you  do  mean  something.  Simpleton.” 

“I’m  hot  saying,”  I answered.  “Only  I wish  you  would  tell 
me  if  anything  strange  has  been  going  on  in  the  factory  lately.” 
She  smiled  impudently.  “Yes,  someone  almost  sold  dad  on 
that  old  goldbrick  idea  of  a fuel-less  motor  1" 

“But  you’ll  remember  they  said  people  would  never  see  radio- 
talkies,” I reminded  her.  “They  said  automobiles  would  always 
burn  gasoline  and  never  fly,  but  they’re  doing  it.” 

“And  I wouldn’t  give  you  ten  cents  for  an  aerocar,”  she  said, 
snapping  her  fingers.  “You  can’t  make  a good  airplane  for 
crowded  streets.  Look  at  the  failures  dad  made  four  years  ago 
— people  bumping  wings  and  getting  traffic  tags  and  forgetting 
to  stop  their  propellers.  Not  us ! We’re  going  to  stick  to  the 
good  old  idea  of  making  airplanes  to  fly,  not  to  roll  in  the 
streets.” 

“And  you’re  making  the  best  planes  in  the  world.  Miss  Til- 
den,” I said.  “But  you  must  watch  out  for  whatever  it  is  that’s 
behind  all  these  strange  contraptions." 

CHAPTER  II 

Important  Discoveries 

WE  passed  two  hours  discussing  the  situation  before  we 
got  a report  from  one  of  the  men  we  had  sent  out 
into  the  factories  and  store-houses  in  the  district.  He- 
telephoned  up  just  as  we  were  leaving  for  a belated  lunch.  His 
name  was  Gastro,  and  he  was  one  of  Nadine’s  favorite  employes, 
a trustworthy  man  of  middle  age. 

“We  have  found  a carload  of  them,”  he  said.  “I  would  sug- 
gest you  call  the  police.  There  seem  to  be  several  in  every 
building,  especially  in  airplane  buildings.” 

“Gather  them  in,”  I said,  “and  don’t  permit  anyone  to  call 
the  police.  Get  three  or  four  trucks  and  have  them  gather  all 
the  machines  up  and  haul  them  out  to  the  abandoned  house  on 
Mr.  Tilden’s  ranch  at  Saugus.”  I ordered  a taxi  when  he  hung 
up,  and  then  turned  to  face  the  amazed  girl,  who  stood  watch- 
ing me  curiously. 

“You’re  taking  a lot  of  authority.” 

“I’m  handling  this — for  you,”  I told  her.  “That  house  is 
five  miles  from  any  other.  Those  machines  will  be  safe  there, 
and  so  will  the  industrial  district — all  these  airplane  factories.” 
“What  do  you  make  of  it?" 

‘Til  tell  you  while  we’re  lunching,”  I said,  and  she  followed 
me  out  to  the  cab  without  a word. 

While  we  were  at  lunch  we  tore  into  several  theories  as  to 
the  possible  purpose  of  the  strange  contraptions  which  we  had 
found,  but  we  had  no  proof  of  anything.  And  to  delay  decisive 
action  spelled  disaster,  perhaps,  for  those  ebony  boxes  with  tiny 
radio  instruments  so  deftly  constructed  certainly  meant  some- 
thing dangerous.  Their  evident  importance  dawned  upon  us 
more  and  more  as  we  learned  the  progress  of  our  men  who 
loaded  them  by  the  dozens  into  trucks.  They  had  found  them 
everywhere — in  buildings — ^generally  scattered  about  under 
wooden  floors  or  between  bales  and  boxes.  There  were  more 
of  them  found  in  and  about  airplane  factories  than  elsewhere. 

We  followed  the  trucks  to  the  ranch  out  near  Saugus,  and 
watched  the  men  unload  them  and  place  them  in  the  abandoned 
house  far  out  on  the  side  of  the  foothills.  Then  we  hurried 
back  to  Los  Angeles. 

IT  was  after  four  o’clock  that  afternoon  when  we  finally  ar- 
rived back  in  the  office  of  the  Tilden  airplane  factory  to  find 


THE  TORPEDQ  TERROR 


359 


gruff  old  Lawrence  Tilden  patiently  awaiting  the  arrival  of 
his  daughter.  He  would  accept  no  explanation  from  either  of 
us  but  banged  his  office  door  shut  while  Nadine  and  I were 
discussing  plans  for  future  action.  How  that  old  man  hated 
reporters  1 

However,  we  were  not  long  in  waiting  before  old  Tilden 
came  out  again  and  demanded  of  me,  ’’Since  you’re  making  so 
much  of  all  this,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?” 

“I’m  going  to  fly  a kite,”  I told  him,  remembering  the  time 
he  threatened  to  tie  me  to  the  tail-skid  of  a China-bound  liner, 
solely  because  I wanted  the  passenger  list. 

“You’ll  fly  into  trouble  if  you  don’t  stay  away  from  my 
daughter.  Now  what’s  on  your  mind?” 

“Salvation,”  I told  him. 

He  suddenly  tugged  at  his  thick  shock  of  hair  and  his  jaw 
snapped.  “Is  this  would-be  scribe  crazy,  Nadine?”  he  asked 
his  daughter.  I answered  for  Nadine. 

“The  salvation  of  the  airplane  industry,”  I explained.  “Some- 
body’s playing  pranks,  and  I believe  you’d  be  the  gdkt  before 
you’d  grant  that  we’re  capable  of  saving  it.” 

, “Explain!”  he  yelled  as  I started  to  go. 

I stopped,  and  I told  him  of  the  three  truckloads  of  those 
apparently  infernal  machines  which  in  themselves  seemed  harm- 
less, but  which,  according  to  my  scientific  beliefs,  were  a part 
of  something  else.  He  listened  attentively  for  twenty  minutes 
while  we  explained  the  possibilities  of  these  boxes  and  their 
contents,  and  finally  sat  down  to  contemplate  the  situation  seri- 
ously. 

Then  I had  to  tell  him  why  we  had  not  chosen  to  tell  the 
police  or  to  print  the  story  in  the  newspaper. 

“I  think  you’re  crazy  if  you  don’t  1”  he  said,  presently.  “II 
something  is  boiling  the  police  should  know  about  it.” 

Nadine  spoke  then. 

“Dad,  let  us  go  to  ’Frisco  to  the  Rickman-Coiroff  factory 
and  tell  them  all  about  it.  I don’t  think  it’s  best  to  telephone 
them,  but  take  Mr.  Edwards  along  and  let  him  go  over  this  with 
them.  They  seem  to  . . .”  She  stopped  suddenly.  “Gosh,  Edwards, 
I don’t  know  what  to  think.  Let’s  get  into  my  Tourister  and 
go  up  there  right  away.  You  can  go  home,  Dad.  Come,  let’s 
go.” 

The  Mysterious  Explosion 

SHE  was  tugging  at  my  arm  in  her  excitement,  and  I 
could  do  nothing  but  follow  her.  The  old  man  sat  there 
staring  at  us  after  she  had  kissed  him  on  the  forehead 
an  dsnapped  an  order  into  the  telephewie  for  her  plane.  We 
went  out  upon  the  great  landing  roof  above  the  Tilden  factory 
and  snapped  an  order  into  the  telephone  for  her  plane.  We 
green  and  white  affair  with  mohair  upholstery  and  all  the  com- 
forts of  home.  She  pulled  the  starter  switch  and  the  powerful 
little  Rickman- Conroff  blasted  out  a challenger  to  the  gather- 
ing darkness.  Then  when  the  roar  had  turned  to  a steady  drone 
she  released  the  brakes,  the  stick  came  back,  then  forward, 
and  we  lifted  into  the  evening  air,  twisting  and  bobbing  about 
in  the  up  and  down  currents  until  the  plane  gained  enough  al- 
titude to  clear  the  bad  air  that  invariably  hung  a few  hundred 
feet  above  the  city  below. 

“I’ve  always  wished  someone  would  invent  a bump  elimi- 
nator,” she  said.  “I’d  fly  a big  twin,  but  I love  this  little 
crate — only  it’s  hard  to  handle  at  times.”  She  shoved  the  gun 
forward  and  the  little  ship  climbed  against  the  wind  and  around 
into  the  proper  course,  and  all  the  while  she  was  telling  about 
her  experiences  in  the  factory  and  in  the  air.  I was  watching 
the  compass  all  the  time,  wondering  if  she  had  allowed  for  the 
drift  and  all  that,  until  I remembered  that  the  modern  compass 
did  not  require  so  much  attention. 

Within  a few  minutes  after  we  lost  sight  of  Los  Angeles  I 
saw  the  mountain  pass  light  near  Saugus  and  suggested  that 
she  drop  down  over  the  ranch  and  see  if  all  was  well  at  the 


abandoned  house  where  we  left  the  strange  instruments.  She 
put  the  Tourister  on  her  ear  and  slid  down  to  within  a few  hun- 
dred feet  of  the  house  on  the  side  of  the  foothill.  We  both 
looked  at  it  closely  for  a while,  until  we  were  finally  satisfied 
that  the  house  was  as  we  had  left  it  less  than  two  hours  be- 
fore. We  were  ready  to  start  climbing  again  when  we  saw  the 
mountain  before  us,  and  turned  southward  to  avoid  it,  slowing 
down  a bit  as  we  headed  into  the  wind.  The  sky  had  sud- 
denly cleared  and  the  moon  and  stars  were  out.  It  was  a beau- 
tiful evening  and  one  could  not  help  looking  down  at  the  moun- 
tainsides and  the  valleys  with  their  shadows  farther  and  farther 
away  as  we  climbed.  Then  Nadine  started  to  put  the  plane 
into  a banking  turn  and  head  for  San  Francisco.  As  she  did  so, 
my  eyes  wandered  back  toward  Los  Angeles  for  a last  glimpse 
of  our  home  city,  when  I saw  something  curious  floating  slowly 
alongside  our  plane. 

^T  first  I could  not  believe  my  eyes.  It  was,  from  all  appear- 
XX  ance,  a very  small  dirigible,  about  twenty  feet  in  length, 
of  rigid  structure,  silvery  gray  and  shining  in  the  moonlight. 
I pointed  it  out  to  Nadine.  She  cut  the  throttle  of  the  Rick- 
man-Conroff  and  got  behind  it.  It  was  travelling  slowly  to- 
ward the  ranch.  Nadine  was  compelled  to  hold  her  little  plane 
down  near  to  the  stalling  point  in  order  to  remain  behind  it, 
and  unconsciously  let  the  plane  lose  altitude  as  the  tiny  dirigible 
floated  down  toward  the  house. 

I yelled  and  reached  for  the  control  stick.  “Get  up  and  out 
of  this  valley,  quick  1”  I screamed.  She  looked  at  me  frantic- 
ally. "Pull  up — far  as  you  can  before  that  thing  strikes  the 
ranch  house  1”  I yelled. 

She  understood  and  let  the  motor  full  out  and  climbed  as  fast 
as  she  could.  Our  eyes  followed  the  tiny  bag  as  it  sped  down 
toward  the  abandoned  house  where  we  had  stored  the  instru- 
ments. We  watched  it  glide  into  the  valley  and  nose  down- 
ward in  the  direction  of  the  house,  and  then  sat  tensely  wait- 
ing for  whatever  would  happen. 

The  world  knows  what  happened.  That  tiny  ship  of  destruc- 
tion struck  the  house,  a heavy  explosion  rocked  the  coimtry- 
side  and  tore  a hole  quarter  of  a mile  in  depth  and  as  much  in 
width  into  the  side  of  the  foothill.  We  felt  our  little  plane  stag- 
ger under  the  concussion  and  plunge  earthward  out  of  control. 
A blinding  glare  invaded  the  sky  for  a moment  as  we  sped 
downward,  only  to  disappear  and  leave  us  in  almost  total  dark- 
ness. I was  watching  Nadine  who  in  this  horrible  moment 
was  wrestling  frantically  with  the  controls  of  the  Tourister,  not 
daring  to  interfere  until  a last  desperate  moment.  But  she  won 
out.  The  plane  flattened  out  within  a few  feet  of  the  ground 
near  where  the  explosion  occurred,  and  then  we  started  climb- 
ing again.  As  we  climbed  and  wondered  what  the  explosion 
could  mean,  the  powerful  Rickman-Conroff  seemed  to  be  snort- 
ing out  an  enraged  challenge  to  the  darkness.  Then  we  realized 
what  we  were  dealing  with.  The  air  was  filled  with  clouds  of 
dust  shot  skyward  by  the  explosion.  In  order  to  get  our  bear- 
ings again  we  bad  to  climb  high  into  the  sky.  When  we  had 
finally  reached  the  moonlit  heavens  again,  Nadine  turned  breath- 
lessly to  me  and  said,  “We’re  going  back  home  I” 

Without  another  word,  she  checked  the  compass  before  her 
and  swung  around  on  the  course.  We  saw  clouds  blowing  in 
from  the  sea  and  threatening  our  pathway  southward,  but  the 
sheer  pluck  of  this  girl  who  was  raised  on  airplanes  and  who 
lived  in  them,  was  not  to  be  outdone.  “We’re  going  through, 
Edwards,  in  spite  of  those  clouds ; and  I’ll  bet  you  anything  you 
can  blindfold  me  and  we’ll  get  there  just  as  quickly.” 

During  those  moments  I at  first  thought  how  much  I had 
to  regret.  Then  I realied  that  even  if  I had  broken  the  story 
to  the  government  or  to  the  police,  nothing  would  have  been 
done.  No  one  would  have  given  my  own  ideas  any  credence. 
It  was  an  impossible  situation,  and  I had  to  look  it  straight  in 
the  face.  I had  one  of  the  biggest  stories  ever  told.  It  only 


360 


WONDER 

remained  for  me  to  get  to  the  office  of  the  World-Bulletin  with 
it.  Previous  to  the  explosion,  the  story  would  have  been  a 
mere  feature  mystery  story.  Now  it  was  a headliner,  and  it 
would  scream. 

CHAPTER  III 

Captured ! 

Nadine  TILDEN  was  not  excited  about  the  story  from 
the  newspaper  standpoint.  She  had  followed  a hunch 
from  the  start,  against  her  father’s  judgment,  and  she 
had  been  right.  She  feared  something  was  threatening  the  air- 
craft industry.  What  was  behind  it  no  one  knew,  but  one  could 
see,  if  he  were  in  our  position,  that  it  was  dangerous,  to  say 
the  least.  Those  tiny  instruments — machines — whatever  they 
were,  acted  as  attractions  for  the  dirigibles,  which  bore  terrible 
explosives.  The  small  airships,  loaded  with  explosives,  were 
dispatched  from  some  point  south,  and  each  was  “tuned”  to  one 
of  those  instruments,  to  which  it  cut  a path  through  the  sky. 
Arriving  over  the  machine  to  which  it  was  “tuned,”  it  simply 
descended  at  an  abrupt  angle  and  the  explosives  were  set  off 
when  it  touched  the  first  solid  object. 

“There’s  something  big  behind  all  this  Edwards,”  Nadine 
breathed  furiously  as  we  dived  into  a cloud. 

“I  w'as  just  debating  with  myself  whether  or  not  it  was  some 
crazy  maniac,  or  merely  an  initial  attempt  of  a hostile  nation 
to  disable  our  airplane  industry,”  I answered. 

We  were  flying  through  that  thick  cloud,  our  eyes  searching 
for  the  city  which  should  have  been  before  us.  We  flew  for 
some  minutes  straight  ahead  before  we  became  anxious.  But  I 
trusted  Nadine’s  skill  at  navigation.  Still,  when  we  should 
have  been  home  we  were  cruising  southward,  although  the  com- 
pass reading  appeared  to  be  accurate. 

We  both  became  anxious  until  we  saw  a streak  of  light  ap- 
pear off  there  ahead  of  us.  When  we  flew  into  that,  the 
moonlight  shone  upon  us,  but  there  was  no  city  below.  Instead, 
we  were  oyer  the  Pacific  ocean — just  where,  we  did  not  know. 
Nadine  gasped.  I hurriedly  checked  all  our  navigating  instru- 
ments and  tested  the  compass  while  she  performed  a series 
of  maneuvers  to  enable  me  to  determine  the  cause  of  our  hav- 
ing passed  over  Los  Angeles. 

“Why,  we’ve  never  been  over  Los  Angeles,  Edwards  1”  she 
almost  shouted  in  despair.  “We’ve  been  tricked — ” Our  eyes 
were  searching  the  sky  together,  to  learn  the  cause  of  the  de- 
viation in  the  compass.  And  suddenly  out  of  that  clear  sky 
above  darted  a strange  craft,  which  hung  over  us  as  Nadine 
held  on  the  stalling  point,  and  studied  us.  It  was  a small 
dirigible,  made  of  transparent  material,  and  four  men  were 
aboard.  One  of  them  sat  aft  in  the  tiny  cabin  and  watched  us. 
He  appeared  to  be  handling  a radio  key  of  some  description, 
for  when  he  waved  his  hand  at  us  and  yelled,  “Now  watch  your 
compass,”  I saw  the  needle  of  our  instrument  fall  back  to  a 
position  opposite  to  what  it  had  been,  and  then  I knew  that  we 
were  in  the  hands  of  an  uncanny  enemy.  Looking  at  him  again, 
I saw  him  grin  broadly  and  nudge  one  of  the  others.  They  all 
looked  around  at  us,  and  while  the  moonlight  played  upon  them 
I could  see  that  one  of  them  was  Gastro,  Nardine’s  trusted  em- 
loyee  in  the  factory. 

WELL,  what’ll  we  do  now,  Edwards?”  demanded  the 
girl  at  my  side. 

“I  suppose  we’ll  have  to  wait  for  orders,”  I said.  “It  ap- 
! pears  that  we’re  outdone.” 

We  were  outdone. 

The  small  airship  hung  over  us  a bit  closer,  her  oval  bag 
glistening  in  the  moonlight  and  her  almost  noiseless  engines 
turning  over  just  fast  enough  to  hold  our  speed.  Then  Gastro 
pushed  his  head  through  the  cabin  window  and  said  without 
ceremony,  “You  two  follow  us!” 


STORIES 

“But  my  compressed  gas  will  be  gone!”  Nadine  shouted  at 
him.  “What  do  you  want,  you  big  stiff?”  * 

Gastro  studied  us  for  a moment,  contemplating  the  little 
plane,  and  then  he  said  with  finality,  “I’ll  throw  a flexible  lad- 
der and  you  two  come  aboard.”  He  turned  and  picked  the 
ladder  from  the  deck  of  the  cabin  and  unrolled  it  down  toward 
us.  Nadine  looked  at  me. 

“Are  we — are  we  going  to  give  up?”  she  demanded. 

“What  else  can  we  do?”  I asked.  “I  have  no  weapons,  and 
if  I did  they  would  be  of  no  use.  This  outfit  means  business.” 
She  did  not  speak  further,  but  pulled  slightly  back  on  the 
control  stick  until  we  were  touching  the  ladder.  She  turned  the 
plane  over  to  me  and  started  climbing  up.  When  she  was  safely 
aboard,  I placed  the  controls  in  beckets  and  followed.  Inside 
the  cabin  we  faced  Gastro  and  the  other  three,  all  of  Latin 
blood,  all  watching  us  as  we  waited  for  them  to  speak.  Nadine’s 
plane  fell  off  into  space  and  hurtled  earthward. 

“You  are  about  to  take  a long,  long  journey,”  Nadine’s  for- 
mer employee  said  with  a grin. 

“And  I trusted  you  1”  exclaimed  the  plucky  airplane  builder’s 
daughter.  “What’s  the  game  anyway,  Gastro?” 

“I’ll  explain  when  we  have  arrived  at  headquarters,”  Gastro 
answered.  He  waved  a hand  at  the  man  who  controlled  the 
ship,  and  we  were  suddenly  speeding  through  the  night.  Then 
he  took  one  of  the  seats  opposite  us  and  said,  as  he  made  him- 
self comfortable,  “You  certainly  caused  our  cruisers  a lot  of 
trouble,  when  you  found  all  those  instruments  and  stored  them 
away.  We  have  explosive  bearers  all  over  the  sky  and  they’re 
out  picking  them  up.  It  wouldn’t  be  safe  for  airplanes  higher 
than  four  thousand  feet,  with  those  things  hanging  about  and 
no  place  to  go.” 

“Then  we  were  right — each  of  those  instruments  was  ad- 
justed to  attract  an  explosive  bearer?”  asked  Nadine, 

“Yes,”  said  Gastro,  “but  you  spoiled  it.  When  the  first  ex- 
plosion took  place  it  destroyed  the  attraction  for  all  the  other 
fexplosive  bearers  we  had  put  into  the  air.  You  see,  today  was 
our  day  for  action — ^the  first  attempt  to  gain  control  of  America. ' 
The  fact  that  you  have  killed  our  attempt  to  destroy  the  most 
important  airplane  factories  on  the  coast  has  delayed  us.  We 
intend  to  destroy  all  the  cities  at  once.  Consequently  we  are 
going  back  to  headquarters  and  start  all  over  again.” 

“Control  of  America!”  Nadine  shouted,  breathing  furiously, 
her  eyes  gleaming.  “You  mean  to  destroy  all  the  important 
industries  of  the  finest  country  in  the  world — to  make  a ruin  • 
of  our  civilization  and  kill  millions  of  innocent  people?”  ' 

“I'm  not  responsible  for  it,”  Gastro  answered.  “The  general 
of  the  Invincibles  is  the  planner  of  all  this;  I am  only  one  of 
his  thousands  of  men.” 

“Who  are  the  Invincibles?”  I asked,  suddenly  conscious  of 
a chill  running  down  my  spine. 

“They  are  men  who  see  the  need  for  a change  in  the  affairs 
and  systems  of  the  world,”  he  answered  calmly.  “Some  of  them 
are  scientists.  You  will  agree  they  must  be,  to  accomplish  what 
is  planned — ^the  wholesale  destruction  of  the  cities  of  the  world 
overnight,  without  risking  a man.” 

“Nothing  Can  Stop  A TildenI” 

WE  were  silent  for  several  minutes  after  that.  I pulled 
Nadine  closer  to  my  side  and  we  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes,  neither  daring  to  speak.  I pictured  horror  and 
destruction  taking  the  place  of  the  plan  and  security  of  the 
world  we  had  known.  Truly  this  was  the  wrath  of  the  gods, 
if  anything  had  ever  been ; and  the  selfishness  of  men  and  the 
instinct  to  draw  blood  were  usurping  the  place  of  peace  and 
prosperity. 

Overnight  1 

Of  the  millions  who  slept  at  this  moment  peacefully  unaware 
of  the  coming  of  destruction  and  want  and  death,  not  one  be- 
lieved he  had  cause  to  fight  a mortal  foe.  War  had  been  out- 


THE  TORPEDO  TERROR 


361 


lawed,  but  in  its  place  had  come  the  modern  Napoleon  such 
asr-»this  leader  of  the  Invincibles.  It  was  inevitable,  with  the 
advent  of  great  scientific  knowledge  and  the  persistent  will  of 
whoever  had  the  blackness  in  his  heart  to  misuse  it. 

Sheltered  off  there  somewhere,  perhaps  in  Mexico,  the  gen- 
eral of  the  Invincibles  had  a stronghold  filled  with  high  explo- 
sives, perhaps  thousands  upon  thousands  of  these  aerial  tor- 
pedoes, or  explosive  bearers,  waiting  for  the  fateful  hour  that 
no  man  knew  save  himself. 

Gastro  spoke  again. 

“After  you  had  detailed  me  and  those  men  to  gather  those 
explosives  and  have  them  stored  in  the  abandoned  house,  I 
talked  to  headquarters  and  had  them  send  one  heavily-charged 
torpedo  to  destroy  them.  Otherwise  you  would  have  informed 
the  newspapers.  Then  when  we  got  a chance  to  draw  you  away 
by  our  compass  magnet  we  held  high  stakes  again.  You  and 
old  man  Tilden  are  the  only  ones  outside  the  Invincibles  who 
know  of  our  work  and  the  young  lady’s  father  is  safely  in  our 
headquarters.  We  shall  arrive  there  by  and  by  and  you  will 
be  more  comfortable  than  aboard  this  heaving  little  shell.” 

There  is  no  need  to  go  into  details  as  to  what  Nadine  said 
to  Gastro  when  she  learned  of  her  father’s  capture.  She  did 
not  take  it  calmly,  but  one  can  expect  a woman  to  talk  more 
than  a man  at  such  times  as  this.  In  this  instance,  the  occa- 
sion certainly  warranted  more  than  speech ; for  Nadine  loved 
her  father  more  than  anyone  else  in  the  world.  He  was  a gruff 
old  fellow  and  all  that,  but  at  heart  he  was  kind  and  consider- 
ate. He  was  a distinct  personality.  One  could  never  forget 
him. 

There  was  an  instance  of  Tilden’s  originality  and  grit  when 
the  old  man  had  raced  his  first  plane  to  Paris  against  Fokkers 
and  Fords,  airplanes  that  had  decades  of  experience  back  of 
their  construction,  and  won  out,  stopping  in  Paris  Only  for  gas 
and  continuing  on  around  the  world,  arriving  home  on  the 
fifth  day — four  sleepless  nights  of  storms  and  heat  and  cold 
and  bumpy  air!  Nothing  could  stop  a Tilden.  I told  Nadine 
•as  piuch  as  we  sped  toward  the  stronghold  of  the  Invincibles. 

“No.  Nothing  can  stop  a Tilden,”  she  breathed. 

Those  words  should,  long  ago,  have  been  the  slogan  of  the 
Tilden  Aircraft  Company. 

CHAPTER  IV 

The  Stronghold 

AS  I sit  here  today  and  write  about  that  evening  when  we 
were  taken  aboard  the  little  transparent  dirigible  with 
its  silent  motors,  I look  back  to  other  days  when  I 
thought  the  world  needed  changing.  There  were  times  in  my 
youth  when,  if  given  the  power,  I believe  I would  have  under- 
taken a conquest  of  the  world,  although  not  with  the  purpose 
of  destroying  human  life.  Those  were  the  days  when  as  a lad 
I walked  in  and  out  of  newspaper  offices  and  in  and  out  of 
the  hearts  of  young  and  beautiful  maidens  who  could  not  be- 
lieve me  what  I believe  myself  to  be — a conqueror  of  the  world, 
my  own  and  their  world — and  found  myself  disappointed  and 
sick  with  life.  The  years  had  changed  me  and  as  I sat  there 
with  Nadine,  herself  ten  years  younger  than  myself,  I realied 
^that  here  of  all  places  and  now  of  all  times  was  my  opportunity. 
And  yet  I was  as  much  bewildered  as  in  the  days  when  I had 
failed  to  conquer  the  world  I wanted,  for  the  odds  were  more 
against  me  now.  But  I had  more  of  an  incentive  than  ever 
before : the  world  must  be  saved  I The  entire  world  must  be 
saved  from  destruction  by  the  Invincibles! 

The  Invincibles  were  risking  nothing  but  dollars.  Even  though 
the  world  were  to  be  warned,  it  was  helpless.  The  instruments 
which  were  designed  to  attract  the  aerial  torpedoes  were  scat- 
tered throughout  the  cities  of  the  world — New  York,  Chicago, 
St.  Louis,  New  Orleans — all  must  fall  under  the.  hand  of  that 
terror  which  would  strike  in  the  night. 


And  we  were  six  people  in  a tiny  airship,  bound  for  the 
stronghold  of  the  Invincibles,  and  to  what  fate  we  did  not  know. 

For  three  hours  the  little  diirgible  with  its  oval  bag  and  sing- 
ing motors  wended  its  way  southward.  Presently  we  struck  the 
Mexican  coast  near  the  tip  of  the  peninsula  of  Lower  Califor- 
nia and  the  man  at  the  controls  eased  down  on  the  speed.  Far 
off  below  us  loomed  the  hills  and  stretches  of  sagebrush-clad 
desert  land,  the  silent  picture  of  desolation  that  might  have  been 
painted  on  a great  canvas,  so  alluring  and  wild  was  it. 

We  lost  altitude  with  the  speed  of  an  airplane  despite  the  ap- 
parently cumbersome  bag,  and  finally  flattened  out  over  a nar- 
row valley  where  we  could  see  a single  small  building  at  the 
foot  of  a hill.  The  man  at  the  controls  headed  for  this  and 
presently  we  were  hanging  on  our  “prop”  at  the  front  of  the 
structure.  It  was  a mere  shack,  but  it  had  a door  wide  enough 
and  tall  enough  to  admit  the  airship,  and  two  men  appeared 
to  take  our  tow-line  and  pull  the  craft  inside.  They  closed  the 
door  behind  us  and  one  by  one  we  followed  the  orders  of 
Gastro  and  got  out. 

In  the  silence  of  the  next  few  minutes,  Nadine  and  l looked 
around  us.  We  were  in  a great  cavern  in  the  side  of  the  hill. 
As  far  back  as  the  eye  could  see  the  walls,  tiny  electric  lights 
gleamed,  and  I observed  a runway  to  a curve  in  the  cavern. 
Having  secured  the  airship,  Gastro  stepped  beside  us. 

“You  young  people  follow  me  and  don’t  bother  about  ask- 
nig  questions,”  he  said  gruffly.  “You  won’t  see  the  General  yet, 
but  Miss  Tilden  can  see  her  old  man.” 

NADINE’S  excitement  was  such  that  she  hugged  me  closely 
and  gave  Gastro  an  almost  worshipping  glance. 

“I’ll  bet  Dad  is  so  ruffled  that  he  could  boil  the  General  in 
oil  and  eat  him,”  she  told  me  confidently.  “You  see,  Edwards, 
no  one  has  ever  bossed  him.  The  most  tearful  and  yet  the  most 
comic  picture  I could  conceive  would  be  of  Dad  in  the  hands  of 
a guard — in  a prison.  He’ll  find  a way  out.” 

We  were  walking  along  the  runway.  We  came  to  the  curve 
in  the  walls  of  the  cavern,  and  then  saw  another  great  room 
in  which  were  stored  thousands  upon  thousands  of  the  tiny 
aerial  torpedoes,  many  of  which  were  disabled  and  helpless  since 
the  destruction  of  the  instruments  to  which  they  were  adjusted. 
I thanked  my  stars  that  we  had  destroyed  them  and  that  there 
was  time  yet  in  which  to  warn  the  world  of  impending  danger. 

The  whole  world  to  face  destruction— Overnight ! Not  a 
warning,  no  chance  for  escape  but  wholesale  murder  and  arson 
— war  in  its  most  cowardly  form.  Perhaps  a mere  handful  of 
the  population  would  be  left  in  the  cities,  and  without  the  cities 
and  their  great  airplane  factories  and  industries  to  serve  the 
outlying  territories,  the  world  would  face  utter  ruin  from  which 
it  would  never  recover. 

We  entered  the  residence  of  the  Invincibles  at  the  other  end 
of  the  cavern.  A few  scattered  guards  held  the  place  and 
looked  at  the  six  of  us  with  curious  eyes  as  we  went  on  into  the 
room  where  the  Invincibles  held  old  man  Tilden  prisoner. 

Tilden  Protests 

Nadine  uttered  a cry  and  ran  to  the  old  fellow,  kissing 
him  and  holding  him  to  her  heart,  and  there  were  tears 
in  the  eyes  of  both.  He  was  silent  until  he  looked  up 
to  see  me  standing  there;  then  his  eyes  gleamed  brighter  than 
ever,  to  my  intense  relief. 

“You  two  kids  gave  ’em  a fight!  That’s  the  Tilden  in  the 
girl,  and  as  long  as  you  were  with  her  I suppose  I can  credit 
you  with  some  of  it,  you  yellow  journalist!” 

“The  credit  for  anything  we  have  accomplished  goes  to  your 
daughter,  sir,”  I told  him.  “But  it  appears  that  as  for  our- 
selves, we  are  helpless.” 

The  old  man  did  not  answer.  He  glanced  at  the  guards  and 
at  Gastro  who  stood  above  him.  Tilden’s  hatred  for  his  former 
employee  was  too  great  for  words.  He  could  only  stare  help- 


362 


WONDER 

lessly  at  the  renegade  until  Gastro  strode  away  without  a word. 

An  orderly  showed  us  to  tiny  rooms,  without  comment,  and 
went  his  way.  We  then  sat  down  to  discuss  the  situation  be- 
fore us.  Old  Tilden  showed  more  fight  within  the  next  three 
minutes  than  I ever  believed  was  within  a man.  I could  see 
him  again  at  the  controls  of  the  original  Tilden  Twin  winging 
his  way  around  the  world  against  storm  and  wind  and  time, 
and  fighting  the  elements  for  the  love  of  the  game. 

"We’re  not  beaten,  kids,  not  by  a long  sight!  We’ve  only 
started.  The  General  sent  word  to  me — I haven’t  seen  him  yet 
— saying  that  he  would  strike  as  soon  as  he  could  plant  his 
attraction  instruments  throughout  Los  Angeles  and  San  Fran- 
cisco again.  You  see,  while  you  were  on  your  way  to  ’Frisco  I 
telephoned  the  Rickman-Conroff  factory  and  told  Rick  to  keep 
an  eye  out  for  more  of  those  confounded  things.  But  while  I 
was  sitting  at  the  telephone,  these” — Tilden  spat  the  words — 
“these  Invincibles  got  me.  They  put  me  into  one  of  my  own 
ships,  the  jelly-hearted  thieves,  and  brought  me  to  within  a mile 
of  here.  And  now  I’m  a prisoner.  In  these  days  of  freedom 
and  peace,  I’m  prisoner  of  a contriving  gang  of  murderers !” 
He  yelled  the  last  words  and  banged  his  fist  upon  the  metal 
table  before  us. 

Nadine  kissed  the  old  fellow  on  the  cheek  and  tried  to  in- 
duce him  to  go  to  sleep.  He  arose,  instead,  and  paced  the  floor, 
cursing  between  his  teeth,  his  rage  beyond  his  control. 

“‘They’ve  got  us,  Edwards  1 The  whole  world  is  facing  de- 
struction! These  murderers  will  stop  at  nothing!  Why — why 
it’s  so  damned  unreasonable  and  yet  so  inevitable  that  the  gov- 
ernment should  have  been  warned  ten  years  ago!  I always 
said  it  wasn’t  safe  for  some  men  to  have  too  much  money!” 

About  us  in  that  great  cavern  which  had  once  been  a mine, 
^were  machine  shops,  electrical  apparatus,  and  storerooms 
and  shops.  There  was  a large  dormitory  across  the  tunnel,  and 
inside  them  men  were  whiling  away  the  time  playing  games 
and  skylarking.  One  glance  into  their  midst  and  I could  see 
that  they  were  of  the  cut-throat  type,  the  riff-raff  of  the  world. 
They  were  mostly  Mexicans  and  Italians  of  the  lower  class, 
men  who  were  unusued  to  the  American  standard  of  living  and 
who  did  not  realize  the  horrible  results  of  what  they  were  about 
to  do.  That  they  were  ready  for  a conquest  of  the  world  with- 
out risking  their  own  lives  was  evident;  himdreds  upon  hun- 
dreds of  those  small  dirigible-torpedoes  were  waiting,  powered 
by  tiny  motors.  We  were  to  learn  later  how  they  operated. 

Only  Nadine  slept.  Her  father  and  I sat  through  the  night 
conferring  in  whispers  and  racking  our  brains  in  an  effort  to 
think  a way  out  of  this  horrible  state  of  affairs.  No  solution 
of  the  problem  came  to  us,  and  we  were  still  talking  when  Na- 
dine awoke.  She  stared  about  her  for  a moment  before  she 
could  recall  the  circumstances  surrounding  her  presence  here. 
Finally  she  sat  up  quickly  to  stare  at  a man  who  opened  the 
door  leading  into  our  room.  Another  man  followed  with  a 
large  tray  of  food,  which  he  placed  on  the  table  in  silence.  They 
went  out  together,  and  we  proceeded  to  have  breakfast. 

When  the  man  who  had  first  opened  the  door  returned  to  the 
room,  he  was  smiling,  and  said; 

“All  three  of  you  are  to  follow  me  to  see  the  General.  You 
must  not  irritate  him.  He  did  not  not  wish  to  be  handicapped 
with  prisoners.  You  must  obey  his  orders  at  all  times.” 

“The  sneaking  thief  1”  stormed  Nadine’s  father.  “It  would 
be  just  too  bad  for  your  general  if  I could  put  on  a pair  of  old 
fashioned  boxing  gloves  with  him  1 One  day  we’re  living  in 
peace,  and  free  to  go  where  we  please,  and  the  next  we’re  in  the 
hands  of  a low-brow  scalawag  who’s  trying  to  kill  off  the 
race  1” 

The  General 

Nadine  hushed  him;  and  we  proceeded  through  the  tun- 
nel to  another  room,  into  which  we  followed  the  leader. 


STORIES 

A little  man  with  a lean  face  and  red  hair  was  lounging  in  a 
dressing  gown  and  smoking  a Russian  cigarette.  He  got  up 
from  his  chair  when  we  entered  and  smiled  at  us — ^this  smile 
was  directed  at  Nadine,  although  at  the  time  I did  not  realize 
it.  Then  he  took  a chair  opposite  us  at  a long  table  and  sat 
looking  at  us  for  some  time  before  speaking. 

At  last  he  said;  I didn’t  want  a single  prisoner,  but  perhaps 
three  won’t  worry  me.  Being  the  only  people  within  the  ranks 
of  the  objective  to  know  anything  of  our  attempt,  you  had  to 
be  taken  prisoners.  You  will  remain  here,  but  you  must  obey 
orders.  Otherwise  ...”  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  sig- 
nificiently,  indicating  that  we  would  suffer  greatly  if  we  failed 
to  comply  with  his  demands.  Then  Nadine  spoke. 

“Mr.  General,  have  you  any  particular  grudge  against  the 
world  that  you  would  destroy  our  people  and  our  greatest  cities  ? 
Doesn’t  it  occur  to  you  that  these  millions  of  people  wish  to 
live  more  than  you  perhaps  do?  ’We  come  from  one  of  the 
finest  cities  in  the  world.  Our  people  are  happy  and  they 
are  fine  and  beautiful.  They  have  arrived  at  a magnificent 
mode  of  living  after  years  of  struggle  and  strife  and  change 
and  experiment.  Now  that  they  are  on  the  right  path,  with 
their  presence  upon  this  earth  justified,  would  you  kill  them  like 
ants?  Would  you  ruin  the  civilization  that  came  of  the  life 
blood  of  our  people  who  saw  and  extinguished  the  name  of 
war?  Can  you  take  these  precious  lives  without  giving  them 
a chance  to  fight — ” 

“That’s  modern  warfare”  the  General  put  in.  “However,  we 
shall  not  go  into  that.  Your  speech  is  magnificent,  as  is  your 
face,  but  it  cannot  interfere  with  my  high  purpose.” 

“High!”  exclaimed  old  man  Tilden,  “You  say  ‘high’?  Why, 
you  damned  cut-throat.  I’ll  wring  your  neck  before  I’ll  listen 
to  it!  I’ll  ...”  He  was  stamping  his  foot  and  banging  the 
table,  and  we  could  not  force  him  to  stop.  Only  his  own  com- 
mon sense  told  him  to  desist,  and  that  was  when  a threatening 
guard  stepped  into  the  room. 

CHAPTER  V 

,The  Secret  of  the  Invincibles 

E sat  down  again.  The  General  continued. 

“All  the  larger  cities  of  the  world  will  be  in  our  hands 
within  ten  days,”  he  boasted.  “We  have  planted  our  in- 
struments in  New  York,  Chicago,  London  and  Tokyo — all  of 
them  shall  fall  at  the  same  time.  We  have  bases  throughout 
the  world,  and  most  of  them  are  as  strong  as  this  one.  At  the 
set  hour  of  conquest,  each  is  to  send  aerial  torpedoes  forth  on 
the  mission  of  destruction.  A warning  to  the  remainder  of  the 
population  will  secure  their  allegiance  to  our  cause.” 

“It  wouldn’t  if  they  were  Tildens  1”  said  the  old  man,  his  teeth 
clinched  and  his  eyes  looking  through  the  General.  Nadine 
attempted  to  hush  her  father,  but  the  old  man  ignored  her  pleas. 
He  got  up  from  the  table  and  walked  back  and  forth  across 
the  room.  One  hard  glance  at  the  guard  and  that  worthy  dis- 
appeared through  the  door.  The  General  motioned  for  Mr. 
"rilden  to  reseat  himself,  which  he  did  with  hesitation. 

“It  is  useless  for  you  to  resist  me,”  the  General  said.  “You 
cannot  induce  me  by  any  means  to  abandon  my  high  purpose. 
This  is  a most  notable  venture — a conquest  of  the  world,  and 
it  is  made  possible  only  through  the  fuel-less  motor.”  ) 

The  three  of  us  gasped  at  the  last  two  words.  The  General 
smiled  and  nodded.  “Electro-magnetic-perpetual  I Sensitive 
radio  devices  and  T.N.T.  1 No  risk  of  life  and  limb — robots 
of  the  air — The  Invincibles  I” 

We  were  silent.  This  was  a serious  moment.  The  world 
lay  in  the  hands  of  this  conqueror  who  would  murder  the 
population  without  warning. 

“But  why  don’t  you — ^well,  sort  of  hold  up  the  world — warn 
it  before  you  do  what  you  are  planning?”  Nadine  suggested. 

“Yeh,  give  ’em  a chance!”  the  old  man  put  in. 


THE  TORPEDO  TERROR 


363 


HE  General  shook  his  head. 

The  plan  wouldn’t  work.  A few  years  won’t  make  any 
difference  in  the  lives  of  these  people.  It  will  serve  our  great 
purpose  better  if  they  are  cleared  off  the  earth  now,  and  give  the 
new  race  an  opportunity.” 

“The  new  race — I”  Nadine  gasped. 

“The  Holy  race,”  answered  the  General.  “When  we  have 
conquered  the  world  we  shall  establish  our  people  under  a new 
plan  of  government.  Those  of  us  who  live  in  the  cities  to  be 
destroyed  are  to  leave  those  cities.  This  is  October  the  fifteenth. 
In  1935  our  King  designated  the  twenty-fifth  of  this  month  as 
an  annual  International  Worship  day.  On  that  day,  without 
knowing  why,  and  thinking  themselves  on  pilgrimages,  all  our 
own  people  will  walk  or  ride  or  fly  to  safety  in  the  wide  spaces 
of  the  country.  Then  shall  the  Invincibles  change  the  destiny  of 
the  world  1” 

The  old  man  was  upon  his  feet,  speechless,  his  hands  clenched 
together,  the  veins  in  his  face  standing  out.  There  was  ten 
times  more  Tilden  in  him  during  those  moments  than  there  had 
been  in  the  hour  when  he  stood  before  the  Senate  in  Washing- 
ton and  told  of  the  profiteering  in  airplanes  sold  to  the  govern- 
ment. “What  a Hell  of  a man  is  Old  Lawrence  Tilden!” 
had  rung  into  the  ears  of  more  than  a few  pilots  and  leaders 
of  the  aviation  industry.  Now  helplessly  gathered  into  the 
net  of  the  Invincibles,  he  was  a child.  His  eyes  were  filled  with 
tears,  his  teeth  were  set. 

The  General  waved  a hand  for  us  to  follow  the  guard.  We 
walked  out  in  silence.  The  cavern  echoed  the  activity  of  the 
mechanics  who  were  working  on  the  torpedoes  and  fuel-less  mo- 
tors. Myriads  of  electric  lamps  glowed  throughout  the  great 
rooms.  Thousands  upon  thousands  of  the  little  ships  of  de- 
struction hung  side  by  side  above  us,  held  there  by  the  gas  in 
their  bags.  At  their  noses  were  tiny  propellers,  while  on  the 
tops  were  antennae  for  connection  with  the  instruments,  each 
ship  adjusted  to  its  own  tiny  box  somewhere  in  a far  off  city. 

We  had  nine  days  in  which  to  act. 

Nearing  the  Hour 

1LOOK  back  over  the  days  since  the  hour  at  Kitty  Hawk 
when  Harold  and  Wilbur  Wright  flew  a front-porch-looking 
contraption  a few  inches  into  the  air.  I see  Ruth  Law  later 
looping  the  loop  at  county  fairs.  Men  with  tiny  hornet-like 
ships  are  pouring  hot  lead  at  each  other  over  Belleau  Wood 
and  the  Argonne — 

“The  roaring,  bustin’  streak  of  Hell 
That  breaks  its  cloudy  unmarked  way 
Through  gas  and  flame  and  shrieking  shell 
Where  something  always  is  to  pay 
The  broken  strut — ^the  piece  of  steel 
That  stays  his  hand  to  level  down — 

The  tracer  slug  that  swerves  his  keel. 

And  sends  him  hurtling  to  the  ground. 

The  major  ordered  photographs. 

The  Skipper  said  to  bust  a kite. 

And  ten  pursuits  were  trailing  aft 
To  see  he  wasn’t  home  that  night — 

He  slipped — he  dived — ^he  led  them  down — 

A blind  spot  in  the  thick  of  fight — 

Machine  guns  cracked — He  pulled  around — 

The  one  pursuit  was  home  that  night  1 
This  war’s  a game  of  Hell  and  flame — ” 

I saw  Smith  and  Nelson  and  Wade  in  their  odd  but  efficient 
Douglas  cruisers,  wending  their  way  around  the  world.  The 
field  from  which  they  started  on  that  brave  adventure  was 
within  a mile  of  my  home.  I saw  Lindbergh,  the  pride  of  the 
world,  flying  on  to  a glorious  victory  over  time  and  gravity  and 


space  and  fog  and  wind  and  rain — ^All  these  blazed  the  trail  to 
a new  era  of  comfort  and  speed  in  transportation,  bearing  the 
torch  of  peace  and  progress  as  they  went. 

They  helped  to  end  war.  They  established  good  will  be- 
tween the  civilized  nations. 

Now  the  world  had  to  deal  with  an  unseen  enemy,  the  hand 
of  avarice  and  superstition  and  ignorance  from  across  the  seas — 
the  Invincibles!  It  was  not  beyond  reason  that  the  individual, 
the  element,  sect  or  creed,  could  gather  enough  money  and  the 
tools  with  which  to  accomplish  a conquest  of  the  cities  of  the 
world. 

On  the  eighth  day  after  our  incarceration  within  the  cavern, 
men  began  taking  the  tiny  torpedo-dirigibles  from  their  berths 
and  filling  their  noses  with  explosives.  This  was  the  twenty- 
third  of  October.  Two  days  more,  and  the  world  was  to  lie  in 
ruins. 

WE  made  the  best  of  the  time.  For  a week  we  had  studied 
the  torpedoes,  the  men  and  their  work.  We  knew  that  to 
turn  a switch  inside  the  compartment  of  a torpedo  caused  the 
propeller  to  revolve.  The  movements  of  the  stabilizer,  elevator 
and  rudder  seemed  to  be  governed  by  outside  agencies,  the  tiny 
and  delicate  instruments  inside  the  boxes  that  were  hidden  in 
the  cities. 

We  had  been  fed  well,  and  were  unmolested,  and  we  had  been 
permitted  to  see  the  preparations  made  by  the  hundreds  of  men 
who  worked  over  the  torpedoes.  Now  and  then  one  of  them 
came  to  talk  with  us.  Our  guard  even  allowed  us  to  walk 
among  them. 

Mr.  Tilden  had  become  quite  resigned  to  this  threatened  de- 
struction of  the  world.  His  rage  had  subsided  and  he  talked 
quite  freely  of  the  past  and  what  would  become  of  us  when  we 
were  again  released. 

“Dead  world — ^no  hope,  baby,”  he  would  say  to  Nadine.  “Too 
bad  you  kids  couldn’t  enjoy  life  in  a free  country.  Means  more 
than  the  people  think.  By  God,  I always  said  Brisbane  was 
right — prepare  for  defense.  But  the  elements  back  of  this 
wholesale  murder  played  around  Washington  and  lobbied  bills 
against  aerial  armament,  posing  as  pacifists,  and  the  people 
swallowed  it.  Propaganda  that  comes  in  sheep’s  clothing.  I 
always  wondered  what  became  of  the  fuel-less  motor.  . . .” 

CHAPTER  VI 

Gastro  Revealed 

ON  the  morning  of  the  day  when  the  torpedoes  were  to  be 
dispatched  from  the  different  bases  of  the  Invincibles, 
Gastro  became  our  guard.  I’ll  never  forget  the  rage  of 
old  Lawrence  Tilden  when  he  came  into  the  room,  his  eyes 
avoiding  ours,  his  two  automatic  pistols  gleaming  from  the 
holsters  at  his  sides. 

The  old  man  cursed  him,  but  Gastro  made  no  response. 
Nadine  studied  her  former  employee  with  intent  speculation. 
As  for  myself,  I was  as  anxious  as  Mr.  Tilden  to  fly  at  his 
throat,  but  that  would  have  meant  only  death;  and  I had  not 
believed  that  I could  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  die  since  that 
morning  when  I walked  into  the  Tilden  office  and  was  informed 
that  strange  things  were  going  on  in  the  factory.  I now 
wondered,  as  did  Nadine,  what  the  world  thought  of  our  dis- 
appearance. Even  if  it  knew  of  the  impending  danger,  nothing 
could  be  done.  I told  her  father  so. 

“Something  could  be  done,  Edwards,”  he  said,  “That’s  what 
I’ve  been  thinking  about  all  this  time.  I have  the  plan  in  mind, 
but  we  can’t  warn  the  world.  That’s  where  the  plan  is  a failure.” 
“What  is  the  plan,  dad?”  Nadine  questioned. 

The  old  man  smiled.  “It’s  simple : If  every  high-powered 
radio  station  in  the  world  would  transmit,  at  once  and  all  to- 
gether, on  the  same  wavelengths  that  these  bandits  are  using 
they  could  scramble  the  air  and  kill  the  controls  that  guide  the 


364 


5V  O N D E R 

Invincibles.  Then  if  the  torpedoes  were  put  into  the  air  they 
would  hang  there — ^keep  traveling,  with  nothing  to  guide  them. 
They  would  endanger  air  travel,  but  they  would  not  descend. 
Do  you  get  the  idea?” 

“I  do,”  I said  with  enthusiasm.  “Now,  how  are  we  to  warn 
the  world  ?” 

“We  may  not  be  able  to  do  it — ^we’re  in  a tight  place,  but 
nothing  can  stop  a Tilden,”  he  whispered.  I suppose  I wor- 
shipped the  old  fellow  after  that.  Nothing  would  ever  stop  a 
Tilden. 

The  morning  of  October  the  twenty-fifth  came.  The  hundreds 
of  men  arose  early  and  began  lining  up  the  torpedoes,  one  by 
one,  to  face  the  door  at  the  entrance  of  the  cavern.  Those 
which  were  destined  to  reach  the  cities  farther  off  were  placed 
at  the  front.  Some  were  dispatched  to  New  York  and  Boston 
while  we  looked  on. 

There  were  swarms  of  the  tiny  ships,  hundreds  upon  hun- 
dreds of  them  crowded  into  the  runway.  Not  one  propeller 
turned  until  the  ship  reached  the  opening.  Then  a man  turned 
a switch  inside  the  torpedo-dirigible,  and  it  sped  forth  on  its 
mission  of  destruction.  Ten  hours  later,  in  darkness,  it  would 
descend  upon  a great  city,  and  play  its  part  in  laying  it  in  ruins. 

This  was  our  zero  hour,  but  old  man  Tilden  was  busy.  I 
had  not  believed  it  possible  to  do  anything  for  the  salva- 
tion of  the  world,  but  just  as  nothing  had  ever  stopped  a Tilden 
nothing  would  hinder  him  now. 

Gastro  was  our  guard  that  morning.  Nadine  had  always 
ignored  him,  and  he  wasn’t  exactly  pleased  about  that.  But 
he  had  been  civil  to  us  and  had  never  denied  us  a single  com- 
fort. Thus,  when  the  old  man  asked  for  a cigar  that  morning, 
Gastro  accompanied  him  into  the  smoking  room  near  the  en- 
trance. Nadine  and  I were  left  to  sit  in  the  main  dormitory, 
with  men  watching  us.  I was  somewhat  simprised  when  an 
orderly  approached  us  and  asked  us  to  follow  him  to  the  smok- 
ing room,  near  the  entrance  to  the  cavern.  When  we  arrived 
there,  Gastro  opened  the  door,  and  the  orderly  walked  away. 
Both  the  old  man  and  Gastro  were  smiling.  They  were  con- 
fused a bit,  but  in  their  eyes  one  could  detect  a change  of 
attitude  toward  each  other.  They  whispered  the  tidings  to  us. 

"Gastro’s  no  traitor — ^he’s  working  for  the  Secret  Service,” 
the  old  man  whispered.  “He  hasn’t  been  able  to  notify  the 
government  of  the  date  for  the  destruction,  so  now  it’s  up  to 
us.  When  Numbers  6 and  7 torpedoes  for  Los  Angeles  leave 
here  the  only  T.N.T.  they’ll  have  aboard  will  be  two  Tildens 
and  one  reporter  who  can  tell  a whopper  of  a story  when  he 
gets  back  to  his  paper !” 

There  was  no  time  to  lose.  The  torpedoes  had  been  dispatched 
so  fast  and  with  such  precision  that  our  craft  were  just  down 
the  line.  Gastro  whispered  instructions  to  us,  and  hurried  out 
the  door  into  the  narrow  passageway  through  which  the  tor- 
pedoes were  dispatched. 

“None  of  them  have  reached  their  destination  yet,”  Mr. 
Tilden  whispered.  “Those  men  out  there  trust  Gastro.  He  was 
compelled  to  go  about  it  this  way.  He  left  Numbers  6 and  7 
Los  Angeles  empty,  and  there’s  room  for  two  people  in  each. 
You  and  my  daughter  may  go  in  the  first  one—”  He  stopped 
short.  Gastro  re-entered  the  room  and  motioned  for  Nadine 
and  me  to  follow  him  out.  He  had  relieved  the  guard  at  the 
door  and  it  was  now  his  office  to  dispatch  the  torpedoes.  By  a 
ruse  he  had  sent  the  other  men  back  down  the  line  and  out  of 
sight. 

We  climbed  into  the  narrow  compartment  of  the  torpedo. 
Nadine  was  breathless.  Gastro  turned  the  switch  and  the  pro- 
peller began  turning  over.  It  attained  the  necessary  speed,  and 
shot  forth  into  the  daylight.  For  a moment  we  were  blinded  by 
the  glare.  Then  we  looked  down.  We  were  traveling  at  over 
two  hundred  miles  an  hour,  and  Number  7 was  following  us. 
It  came  alongside  in  silence,  and  we  saw  Gastro  wave  a hand. 


STORIES 

Number  7 checked  speed.  I looked  about  for  the  switch  and 
found  a speed  regulator  just  below  it.  Thus  we  sped  along,  side 
by  side,  bound  northward,  for  over  an  hour.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  we  saw  beautiful  San  Diego  below  us.  Nadine  looked  down 
upon  that  city  for  a moment,  unconcerned  about  her  own  pre- 
dicament, and  she  said,  “We’ve  got  to  save  it,  Edwards  I Let’s 
go  down  nowl” 

The  End  of  the  Menace 

1 CHECKED  speed,  reached  on  top  and  tore  the  antenna  from 
its  base  and  threw  it  to  the  winds.  Then  with  much  caution, 

I worked  my  way  back  to  the  steering  apparatus  and  discon- 
nected the  rudder  and  stabilizer  lines  from  the  machinery.  With 
a quick  lurch  I felt  the  torpedo  plunge  downward  toward  the 
city,  I tried  to  steer  it  properly,  but  so  great  was  the  effort  re- 
quired that  only  luck  could  have  saved  us  from  death  by  plung- 
ing to  the  ground.  When  the  craft  leveled  off  she  was  a few 
feet  from  the  housetops  near  the  center  of  San  Diego.  We  saw 
the  Naval  Base,  and  steered  for  that.  Before  wondering  eyes, 
we  landed  before  the  executive  offices  of  the  flying  field  and 
crawled  from  the  compartment  to  explain  hurriedly  to  the  com- 
mander what  was  about  to  happen.  He  pulled  us  into  the  radio 
room  and  snapped  an  order  to  the  operator,  “Turn  on  all  yoiu- 
power  on  the  big  set,  and  tell  Number  Two  to  broadcast  a 
message  to  the  world  that  it’s  in  danger.  Don’t  waste  a second  1” 
Then  the  commander  came  out,  smiling.  “It  seems  quite  im- 
probable that  anything  like  this  could  happen,  but  we  can’t  take 
chances.  Furthermore,  I must  give  your  story  some  credence, 
since  three  of  our  flyers  reported  they  saw  a strange  contrap- 
tion at  a high  altitude.  They  tried  to  overtake  it,  but  it  was 
flying  too  fast  for  them.”  He  looked  up  into  the  sky.  A 
torpedo  was  circling  the  field.  He  stepped  back,  startled. 

“There’s  one — meant  for  us!”  he  snapped. 

“Don’t  worry,”  said  Nadine.  “That’s  Number  7,  and  my 
father  is  aboard.” 

Number  7 landed  on  the  field  and  Gastro  and  Mr.  Tilden  got 
out  and  joined  us.  Re-united,  we  were  filled  with  joy.  I forgot 
everything  about  the  newspaper  until  the  operator  came  to 
inform  the  commander  that  he  had  warned  all  stations,  and  that 
they  were  all  going  to  broadcast  on  a wavelength  that  would 
“scramble”  the  air  and  prevent  the  radio  controls  of  the  tor- 
pedoes from  operating. 

“There’s  going  to  be  a panic  in  this  country  or  I’ll  miss  my 
guess,”  the  commander  said.  “No  one  will  want  to  be  within 
a thousand  miles  of  those  torpedoes.’” 

He  ordered  a plane,  an  immense  patrol-bomber,  and  we 
boarded  it.  Nadine  sat  beside  me  near  the  radio-phone  while  I 
called  Spencer  and  experienced  a long-distance  reunion  that  I 
shall  remember  all  my  life.  I told  him  the  story  in  as  few 
words  as  possible. 

“There’s  a thousand  bonus  in  it  for  you  and  a better  job, 
son,”  he  screamed.  “I’ll  make  you  the  biggest  reporter  in  the 
world — I’ll — ” He  went  on  to  praise  me  and  the  story  that  came 
of  misfortune,  and  I had  visions  of  headlines  six  inches  high, 
with  thousands  of  extra  men  in  the  streets.  Gastro  would  be 
made  a hero,  and  the  plotters  would  be  hunted  down. 

>l<  * 4>  * * 

CRUISING  at  ten  thousand  feet,  we  saw  a number  of  the 
torpedoes  hanging  there,  motionless.  Their  delicate  in- 
struments were  powerless.  We  learned  that  plans  had  already 
been  started  to  keep  the  air  scrambled  until  the  torpedoes  could 
be  led  out  to  sea  or  far  from  civilization  and  there  be  allowed 
to  explode. 

We  landed  at  Los  Angeles  Metropolitan  airport  and  were 
taxied  into  the  city.  Delegations  met  us  and  speeches  and 
banquets  followed.  It  was  hours  after  the  great  demonstration 


THE  TORPEDO  TERROR 


365 


before  we  had  any  privacy  and  then  Mr.  Tilden,  Nadine,  Gastro 
and  I were  cornered  by  a mob  at  .the  Biltmore.  We  declined 
to  say  anything  more  about  the  affair,  until  Spencer  edged  his 
way  through  them  and  closed  the  door.  He  had  a notebook  in 
hand — the  old  reporter  again,  and  he  was  asking  questions 
faster  than  we  could  answer  them.  In  the  end,  he  told  me  I 
could  name  my  own  figure  and  take  any  job  the  paper  offered. 
Then  old  man  Tilden  stepped  up,  chewing  his  cigar,  and  he 
said  to  the  city  editor : — 

“No  son-in-law  of  mine  is  going  to  be  a newspaper  reporter  1” 

Strangely,  during  those  ten  days  I had  never  thought  of  what 


he  was  trying  to  get  over,  but  its  full  significance  dawns  upon 
me  daily,  now,  and  I haven’t  the  slightest  regret  at  having 
accidently  fallen  into  a plot  to  destroy  the  world.  The  paper 
had  not  thought  of  what  was  really  behind  the  great  explosion 
on  the  Tilden  ranch. 

I don’t  recall  that  there  has  since  been  any  attempt  by  adverse, 
foreign  elements  to  destroy  America,  or  any  other  nation.  For 
the  Invincibles  were  followed  to  their  strongholds  and  either 
killed  or  captured.  And  to  this  day  the  world  looks  back  with 
horror  and  fear  at  the  menace  that  was  contained  in  some 
harmless-looking  black  boxes. 


The  End. 


The  Tragedy  of  Spider  Island 

{Continued  from  page  333) 


Myra  grasped  the  tube  and  sped  away.  The  spiders 
were  only  a few  yards  from  them  and  were  approach- 
ing rapidly.  Dr.  Collins  turned  to  Webster. 

“The  way  is  clear,  Webster,”  he  said,  “or  will  be  in 
a minute.  Run  for  your  life  and  take  Myra  to  safety. 
I’ll  stop  these  fellows.” 

“We’ll  both  stop  them.  Doctor,”  said  Webster  grimly, 
“if  we  can.” 

“Run,  you  fool !”  gasped  the  Doctor.  “I  have 
brought  this  danger  on  us  and  I will  stop  it.  Listen, 
man,  I am  dead  already.  Haven’t  you  seen  for  the 
last  two  months  that  I am  doomed?  I have  only  a 
few  weeks  left  at  best  and  a run  to  the  boat  would 
kill  me.  My  heart  is  rotten  clear  through.  Run,  Bill, 
Myra’s  life  depends  on  your  action!” 

Webster  hesitated  a moment  and  the  Doctor  with  a 
shout  rushed  at  the  nearest  spider.  From  behind  him, 
Webster  heard  the  sound  of  Myra’s  approaching  foot- 
steps. 

“Daddy!”  she  shrieked,  “Oh,  Bill,  save  him!” 

Webster  ran  after  the  Doctor  but  he  was  too  late. 
While  he  was  still  twenty  feet  in  the  rear  the  Doctor 
met  the  first  spider.  He  threw  himself  on  it  and  for 
a moment  it  looked  as  though  he  would  overcome  it  but 
in  the  instant  of  victory,  he  swayed  and  fell,  his  face 
suffused  with  purple.  Another  monster  sprang  through 
the  air  and  landed  on  his  back  and  Webster  saw  the 
slavering  jaws  close  on  the  hapless  victim’s  neck.  He 
turned  and  ran  back  toward  Myra. 

“Is  he  ” Myra  faltered. 

“He  is  dead,”  he  said  softly.  “We  must  hurry  or 
his  sacrifice  will  be  in  vain.” 

The  last  web  had  wielded  to  Myra’s  ray  and  the 
path  to  the  boat  house  lay  open  before  them.  At  top 
speed  they  raced  toward  it,  the  spiders  close  on  their 
heels.  Webster  unlocked  the  house  and  followed  Myra 
inside  with  their  pursuers  not  a dozen  feet  away.  He 
slammed  shut  the  door  and  turned  his  attention  to  the 
motor.  In  a moment  it  was  roaring  and  he  braced  him- 
self to  open  the  water  door. 

“Take  the  wheel,  Myra,”  he  said,  “Race  the  engine 
at  top  speed  and  when  I open  the  door  throw  in  the 


clutch  and  go  out  as  fast  as  it  will  travel.  I’ll  jump  in 
as  you  pass.  Those  spiders  are  waiting  for  us.” 

Myra  took  the  wheel  of  the  little  craft  and  as  Web- 
ster threw  open  the  door  she  let  in  the  clutch.  The 
screw  beat  the  water  unavailingly  for  a moment  and 
then  the  craft  gathered  headway  and  shot  out  through 
the  opening,  Webster  jumping  in  as  it  passed.  They 
were  not  the  only  passengers  for  as  the  boat  shot  away 
from  shore  one  of  the  huge  spiders  launched  its  body 
through  the  air  and  landed  in  the  stern  of  the  boat. 
Webster  threw  up  his  shotgun  and  fired  both  barrels. 
The  top  of  the  spider’s  head  was  torn  away  by  the 
double  charge  but  it  still  advanced,  its  one  remaining 
eye  gleaming  balefully. 

Webster  jumped  for  it,  boathook  in  hand.  The  jaws 
had  been  crippled  by  the  shot  and  he  rained  blow  after 
blow  on  the  loathsome  body  until  only  a spasmodic 
twitching  movement  remained.  With  a grimace  of 
disgust,  he  caught  the  body  with  the  boathook  and  with 
an  effort  heaved  it  over  the  side. 

“That’s  the  last  of  them,  thank  God !”  he  exclaimed. 

He  advanced  toward  the  bow  and  took  the  wheel 
from  Myra.  She  relinquished  it  and  swayed  a moment 
and  then  sat  down  suddenly, 

“Are  you  hurt?”  he  demanded  anxiously. 

“No,”  she  gasped,  her  lips  quivering,  “I’m — I’m — 
only — ^tired.” 

She  swayed  slightly  and  Webster  dropped  the  wheel 
and  caught  her.  She  relaxed  against  him  and  the  weight 
of  her  slim  body  in  his  arms  broke  down  the  wall  of 
resistance  he  had  raised  against  her.  He  crushed  her 
to  him  and  pressed  his  lips  against  hers.  He  released 
her  in  a moment  and  raised  his  head,  a flush  mantling 
his  cheek.  He  had  not  meant  to  take  advantage  of  her 
helplessness. 

“Bill,”  came  her  voice  softly,  “do  you  love  me?” 

For  answer  he  grasped  her  and  kissed  her  again  and 
again.  Her  arms  S'tole  around  his  neck  and  her  lips 
returned  the  pressure  of  his.  Unheeded  by  them  both, 
the  launch  tore  on  at  full  speed  through  the  blue  waters 
of  the  Pacific. 


The  End. 


366 


WOP^DER  STORIES 


A Rescue  in  Space 

{Continued  from  page  355) 


widened  with  joy. 

“I  understand,  my  children,  and  you  have  my  bless- 
ing,” he  said  simply.  “Now  according  to  Martian  law 
the  marriage  must  take  place  at  once.  By  virtue  of  my 
high  office  I will  perform  the  ceremony.” 

And  when  a moment  later  the  assembled  thousands 
became  aware  of  what  was  going  on,  a great  shout  of 


thanksgiving  and  exultation  arose — high  above  the  roar 
of  the  burning  monster  it  rose,  gathered  in  volume  and 
reverberated  over  land  and  sea. 

As  The  Spectacles  fell  apart  and  rolled  down  the 
steep  rocks,  a mass  of  blackened,  tangled  wreckage,  the 
marriage  was  performed. 

Thus  travel  between  Mars  and  the  earth  began. 


“FUTURE  FLYING  FICTION” 


In  the  February  1930  issue  of  Air  Wonder 
Stories  we  announced  an  unusual  contest  — 
$100.00  in  gold  was  to  be  given  for  the  best  slogan 
that  would  describe  Air  Wonder  Stories  and  its 
contents. 

The  contest  closed  at  noon  on  May  1,  1930,  and 
at  that  time  by  official  count  we  had  received  3,860 
entries,  together  with 
accompanying  letters 
giving  the  reason  for 
the  choice  of  the 
slogan. 

Naturally  the  classi- 
fying of  all  these  en- 
tries, the  arranging  of 
them  into  grades  so 
that  the  winners  might 
be  picked  was  a monu- 
mental job,^^  particu- 
larly because  so  many 
of  them  were  so  good. 

Then  came  a series 
of  editorial  confer- 
ences in  which  the  edi- 
tors and  the  publisher 

gradually  weeded  out  the  better  ones,  in  order  to 
finally  pick  the  winner. 

The  job  was  not  easy ; but  in  the  end  an  almost 
unanimous  agreement  was  obtained  on  the  selec- 
tion of  the  slogan,  "Future  Flying  Fiction,"  sub- 
mitted by  J.  Harris,  of  9 Tavistock  Square, 
London,  W.  C.  1,  England.  Naturally  as  Air 
Wonder  Stories  has  been  merged  into  Wonder 
Stories  and  the  slogan  "The  Magazine  of 


the  prize  to  Mr.  Harris  in  conformity  with  the 
terms  of  the  contest.  The  letter  of  Mr.  Harris 
follows : 

Editor,  Slogan  Contest,  Air  Wonder  Stories: 

My  reasons  for  choosing  the  attached  slogan 
are  the  following : The  three  words  make  it  short, 
sharp  and  distinctive.  It  says  no  more  than  it 

means,  but  that  it  says 
clearly.  It  can  be  used 

7T>  tt7c  either  on  the  cover  or 

.K  SlOKlEb  ^ subtitle  on  the 

J\  CONTEST  contents  page  and  it  is 

not  too  long  to  appear 
\ })y  as  a secondary  title  on 

a small  poster. 

Harris  it  is  self-explana- 

T j tory  and  should  catch 

(uare,  London,  r u 

‘ ’ the  eye  of  persons  who 

England  are  looking  for  a 

magazine  of  that  kind, 
slogan  The  three  F’s  also 

have  an  alliterative 

ing  Fiction  value  in  themselves. 

Yours  sincerely, 

John  B.  Harris, 

9 Tavistock  Square, 
London,  W.  C.  1,  England. 
Among  the  honorable  mentions  are  the 
following : 

“Aero  Fact  in  Fiction,”  submitted  by  Charles 
B.  Davis,  812  Grainger  Street,  Fort  Worth,  Texas. 

“Fact — Fiction — Future  Flying,”  submitted  by 
James  M.  Cox,  Cleveland,  Ohio. 

“Flights  of  Fact  and  Fancy,”  submitted  by  John 


Prophetic  Fiction”  has  already  been  chosen  for  A.  Savage,  3rd,  73  West  130th  Street,  New  York. 


Wonder  Stories  the  Air  Wonder  Stories 
slogan  will  not  be  used.  However,  we  gladly  offer 


“Thrilling  Stories  of  Future  Aviation,”  sub- 
mitted by  Peter  Cook,  Little  Falls,  N.  J. 


WONDER  STORIES 


367 


The  War  Lord  of  Venus 

{Continued  from  page  309) 


I attempted  to  pursue  him,  but  after  a few  yards  of 
aimless  running  my  senses  again  began  to  reel,  even 
more  giddily  than  before,  under  the  combined  efforts 
of  the  blows  on  my  jaw  and  the  back  of  my  head.  I 
returned  to  the  large  clearing  which  I had  crossed  just 
prior  to  my  encounter  with  the  Karnan  chief,  and  here 
I found  Deena.  I felt  sick  and  groggy,  so  I lay  down 
on  the  grass  and  drifted  into  oblivion. 

I returned  to  consciousness  while  four  warriors 
crowded  around  me,  Deena  bathing  my  face  with  water 
which  one  of  the  men  had  procured. 

As  my  eyes  opened  Deena  smiled. 

“You  were  very  brave  to  pursue  Torag  and  fight 
him  when  he  was  armed  and  you  were  not,”  she  said. 

“I  beg  to  call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that  he  did 
not  draw  a knife  while  we  fought.  Princess.  And  any- 
way, my  bravery  would  have  helped  me  but  little  had 
not  your  warriors  come  when  they  did,”  I replied. 

“How  did  you  happen  to  pop  up  in  time?”  I asked 
them,  addressing  myself  to  one  of  the  men. 

“We  were  just  going  out  to  hunt  when  we  came  to 
the  clearing  and  heard  you  fighting.  Lago,  here — ” he 
indicated  one  of  his  companions — “happened  to  see 
your  clothing  once,  so  we  came  to  your  assistance.  Our 
running  over  the  ground  must  have  frightened  Torag 
away.” 

I rose  to  my  feet,  and  together  we  six  returned  to 
the  village,  moving  off  the  direct  route  a little  that  we 
might  recover  the  body  of  Segoz,  the  chieftain  who  had 
been  slain  in  the  small  clearing  by  Torag.  Back  in  the 
village  I spoke  to  Deena  of  the  matter  that  had  prompted 
my  visit  to  her  throne-room  an  hour  previous. 

“I  have  decided.  Princess  Deena,  to  accept  your  pro- 
posal regarding  my  companion  and  me.  I do  not  know 
if  he  will  desire  to  become  one  of  your  warriors,  but 
my  mind  is  made  up.  Tell  me  what  I must  do  to  be 
accepted  as  a warrior  of  Kama.” 

The  Cave  Princess  smiled.  “I  am  glad  of  your  de- 
termination, for  you  will  make  a valuable  member  of 
our  tribe,  and  your  fight  with  Torag  proves  your 
prowess  and  shows  that  you  have  the  welfare  of  Kama’s 
rulers  at  heart.  In  three  days  I will  see  you  again  at  my 
council  chamber,  and  there  you  will  go  through  the 
rites.  The  two  men  who  taught  you  our  language  will 
prepare  you  for  your  part  in  the  ceremony.” 

Some  Questions 

WITH  that  she  left  me,  and  I returned  to  my  own 
cave. 

The  next  day  the  first  thing  I saw  as  I emerged  from 
my  cave  was  the  figure  of  Von  Kressen,  supported  by 
the  two  .girls  who  had  nursed  him  during  his  illness. 
He  limped  slightly  and  seemed  weak  and  uncertain  of 
his  steps,  but  he  was  up  and  around,  and  that  was  the 
main  thing. 

With  a whoop  of  elation  I charged  over  to  where  he 
stood  in  the  entrance  of  the  Witch  Doctor’s  abode, 
drinking  in  with  evident  satisfaction  the  light  of  the 
swollen  red  sun  that  rose  over  the  dim,  vapor-veiled 
horizon. 


“Morning,  Skipper!”  I cried,  grabbing  his  arm  and 
working  it  like  a pump  handle  till  a grimace  on  his  part 
warned  me  that  it  was  still  sore. 

“Morning,  Ken,”  he  responded  weakly,  with  a wan 
smile.  “How  are  you?” 

“Fine !”  I assured  him  hastily.  “But  you — ?” 

“Oh,  I’m  all  right.  Be  running  around  again  like  a 
kid  in  a couple  of  days.” 

That  reminded  me  of  Deena’s  proposal,  and  motion- 
ing him  to  my  cavern,  I told  him  of  the  proposition  the 
Cave  Princess  had  made  me,  of  my  own  acceptance,  and 
asked  what  he  thought  of  the  matter.  For  some  time 
he  sat  in  silence.  Then  he  shook  his  head. 

“I’m  still  a little  too  sick  to  concentrate  on  the  prob- 
lem. I’ll  think  it  over  the  next  few  days  and  work  up 
an  opinion.  I’ll  see  you  again  before  your  ceremony.” 

We  sat  and  talked  for  a while  after  that ; wondered 
what  Throck  was  doing  back  in  the  Flying  Dutchman; 
wondered  whether  Parri  still  lived ; and  presently 
thought  of  the  tiger-skin  we  had  begun  to  cure  at  the 
time  of  our  capture.  I determined  to  ask  Deena,  the 
next  time  I saw  her,  if  her  warriors  had  found  it  that 
day.  After  a time  the  Von  thought  he’d  better  go  back 
to  the  Witch  Doctor’s  dwelling,  as  it  seemed  that  only 
a short  time  was  allowed  him  on  this  first  venture  from 
his  grass  bed. 

Some  time  after  he  had  left,  assisted  by  his  two 
primitive  nurses,  the  two  men  who  had  taught  (and 
were  still  teaching)  me  the  language,  came  to  my  apart- 
ment with  the  Witch  Doctor. 

“We  wish  to  instruct  you  about  the  ceremony  that 
will  make  you  one  of  us,”  one  of  them  informed  me. 
“First  we  will  ask  you  a few  questions  regarding  your- 
self ; then  the  Thayo-Maguri  (Witch  Doctor)  will  make 
strong  magic  over  you,  and  you  must  prepare  yourself 
according  to  directions.” 

Of  course,  this  explanation  was  not  just  so  spoken, 
for  there  were  many  words  I had  not  yet  learned,  but 
by  signs  and  simpler  words  that  I already  knew,  the 
man  conveyed  his  meaning. 

We  went  into  the  cavern,  and  by  the  dim,  bluish 
light  of  the  glow-fungus,  my  tuition  began. 

“What  is  your  name?”  asked  Vaga,  my  principal 
teacher,  though  he  already  knew  it. 

“Kenneth  Marx.” 

“How  old  are  you  ?” 

I was  on  the  point  of  saying  thirty-five,  when  I 
thought  of  the  difference  in  time  in  the  years  of  our 
respective  planets,  and  roughly  estimating  the  Ter- 
restrial year  to  be  one  and  two-thirds  times  as  long  as 
the  Venusian,  I gave  my  age  as  fifty-eight. 

The  Karnans  have  no  regular  measure  of  time 
smaller,  or  larger,  than  a day;  but  they  have  observed 
that  during  a certain  period  in  a certain  number  of 
days,  the  great  red-orange  sun  shines  clearer  and 
warmer  than  the  rest  of  the  time.  They  have  also  seen 
that  during  this  period  certain  fungi  grow  larger  and 
more  rapidly,  and  various  other  forms  of  botanical  ac- 
tivity are  more  manifest  during  this  short  period  than 
at  any  other  time.  So  they  have  an  idea  of  the  year, 


368 


WONDER  STORIES 


though  it  is  not  so  well  developed  because  the  thick 
cloud-veils  of  Venus  preclude  more  precise  time- 
measurements  by  astronomical  means. 

“How  long  have  you  been  with  the  tribe  of  Kama?” 
I counted  mentally.  “Ten  days.” 

“Are  you  mated  ?” 

“No.” 

“Do  you  vow  the  tribe  of  Kama  and  its  ruler  the 
strictest  loyalty?” 

“I  do.” 

“Do  you  promise  your  assistance  in  all  the  tribe’s 
undertakings,  and  do  you  promise  to  further  its  strength 
in  every  way?” 

“I  do.” 

Vaga  reflected  a moment  to  see  if  he  could  think  of 
any  more  questions  ere  I was  accredited  eligible  for 
candidacy  to  warriorhood. 

“From  what  tribe  do  you  come?” 

“The  United  States  of  America,”  I answered,  won- 
dering what  he  would  think  if  he  glimpsed  the  size  and 
civilization  of  my  “tribe.” 

“Where  does  it  lie?”  he  asked  next,  though  it  was 
apparent  that  he  did  not  fully  comprehend  the  answer 
to  his  last  question. 

“Farther,  much  farther  away  than  the  uttermost 
shore  of  the  greatest  sea  that  touches  your  land.” 
There  was  a minute  of  silence  while  they  let  that 
sink  in.  Evidently  that  was  a tough  nut  to  crack,  and 
could  hardly  be  swallowed  offhand. 

“Are  you  telling  the  truth?” 

“I  am — cross  my  heart  and  hope  to  die,”  (this  latter 
part  mentally  in  English)  I replied. 

“How  did  you  come  here  ?” 

“My  companion  and  I came  here  with  a great — ” I 
paused — I hardly  knew  just  what  to  reply — “with  a 
great  bird,  which  does  not  live  on  this  side  of  the 
water.” 

“This  bird  carried  you  here?” 

“Yes.” 

Once  more  Vaga  reflected. 

“That  is  all,”  he  said  then.  “Now  the  Thayo-Maguri 
will  make  strong  magic  over  you,  and  you  must  follow 
his  directions  to  the  letter.” 


Satisfied  that  we  would  have  no  supernatural  inter- 
ruption, the  Witch  Doctor  took  up  my  part  of  the  cere- 
mony. First  he  made  many  passes  over  me  with  his 
hands  for  the  purpose,  I later  learned,  of  giving  me 
strength  to  combat  any  evil  spirit  who  might  choose 
to  possess  me.  Then  he  placed  his  hands  on  my  head 
to  give  me  wisdom  in  battle,  and  next  proceeded  to 
give  my  limbs  and  body  a brief  massage  to  instill  phy- 
sical strength  and  endurance.  Lastly  he  thumped  my 
breast,  so  that  I might  be  courageous  and  loyal. 

Then  he  gave  me  a little  piece  of  wood,  primitively 
carved  into  a crude  simile  of  a man,  to  be  hung  around 
my  neck  by  a thong  of  catgut.  After  giving  me  certain 
directions  to  follow  during  the  next  three  days,  he  sig- 
nified that  the  ceremony  was  over. 

I must  say  that  his  religion  certainly  embodied  some 
very  practical  ideas. 

The  rest  of  the  day  I was  given  nothing  to  eat  or 
drink  save  a swallow  of  water  at  sundown.  I had  been 
instructed  to  pray  to  the  gods  of  Kama  that  I might 
become  a good  warrior,  but  I am  afraid  I was  not  as 
devout  as  I should  have  been. 

The  morning  of  the  second  day  I left  for  a great 
spur  of  rock  that  towered  over  the  treetops  bout  a mile 
distant,  and  on  its  top  I was  supposed  to  pledge  my 
devotion  to  the  spiritual  and  mortal  rulers  of  Kama. 

Coming  back  to  camp  in  the  evening,  I received  some 
water  for  my  fare,  and  then  sat  up  all  night  with  the 
Thayo-Maguri  for  a companion.  The  next  morning, 
Nogas,  the  Witch  Doctor,  informed  me  that  in  the 
evening,  if  I performed  my  duties  well  that  day,  I would 
be  initiated  into  the  almost  sacred  state  of  warriorhood. 
The  first  thing  I had  to  do  was  change  my  Terrestrial 
clothes  for  a loin-cloth  of  lion  skin.  Then  the  Witch 
Doctor,  four  other  chiefs,  and  I,  followed  by  most  of 
the  male  population  of  the  village,  went  out  to  a large 
natural  clearing  some  two  miles  from  the  cliffs  of 
Kama;  and  there,  safe  from  the  prying  eyes  of  any 
women,  I had  to  run,  jump,  hurl  spears,  and  by  other 
ways  prove  my  physical  ability  to  go  on  the  war-trail 
without  food  for  two  days. 

And  then,  these  tests  being  passed,  the  Witch  Doctor 
muttered  some  final  incantations  over  me,  and  I was 


A New  Warrior 

The  Witch  Doctor  arose  from  where  he  had  been 
squatting,  and  taking  a gourd  of  water  near  at 
hand,  he  made  a lot  of  intricate  passes  over  it,  mumbling 
all  sort  of  unintelligible  gibberish,  and  then  dipping  a 
cupped  hand  into  it,  sprinkled  water  upon  the  walls, 
ceiling,  and  floor  of  our  cavern,  and  upon  the  heads  and 
bodies  of  ourselves — ^himself  included.  This  was  the 
process  of  washing  out  any  evil  spirits  who  might  cling 
to  us  or  to  the  cavern.  Having  assembled  these  wraiths 
in  the  center  of  the  room,  he  now  snatched  the  bear- 
robe  from  his  shoulders  and  proceeded  to  shoo  them 
out  of  the  open  entrance  and  exit  of  my  apartment. 

When  the  spooks  had  departed,  he  shoved  a stick  into 
a small  sacred  fire  he  had  built  in  the  cave  while  I was 
being  examined,  and  after  making  mystic  passes  over^ 
the  burning  ember,  he  drew  it  across  the  entrance  of 


ready  for  admittance  to  the  warrior  class. 

Back  in  my  cave  I was  permitted  to  break  the  fast  and 
the  silence  I had  been  obliged  to  keep  during  the  two 
days  of  preparation.  Shortly  after  I had  eaten,  Von 
Kressen,  called  at  my  dwelling. 

“Have  you  reached  a decision  about  my  action?”  I 
queried. 

“I’ve  been  thinking  it  over,”  he  responded,  “and  I’ve 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  you  did  right.  In  fact,  as 
soon  as  I am  well  enough,  I think  I’ll  become  a Cro- 
Magnon  savage  also.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  the  best 
way  to  get  along  while  we  are  on  this  planet.” 

“Ludwig  Von  Kressen  and  Kenneth  Marx — Cro- 
Magnon  warriors,”  I ruminated.  Anyway,  being  a 
savage  was  a rather  novel  idea,  I decided,  as  the  Skipper 
turned  back  to  Nogas’  cave  again.  I snickered  as  I 
went  into  my  cavern  again,  for  it  struck  me  as  being 
hilariously  funny  that  two  scientists  and  men  of  letters 


my  cave  so  that  if  the  undesirable  ones  should  come  such  as  the  Von  and  I should  ever  be  reduced  to  the 
back  they  would  burn  their  feet  and  stay  out.  level  of  naked  savages. 

(To  be  continued) 


Science  Questions 
and  Answers 


This  department  is  conducted  for  the  benefit  of  readers  who  have 
pertinent  queries  on  modern  scientific  discoveries  and  on  established 
scientific  facts.  As  space  is  limited  we  cannot  undertake  to  answer  more 
than  three  questions  for  each  letter.  The  flood  of  correspondence  re* 


ceived  makes  it  impractical,  also  to  print  answers  as  soon  as  ws  receive 
questions.  However,  questions  of  general  interest  will  receive  earful 
attention.  If  you  desire  individual  answers  to  your  queries,  enclose  2Sc 
in  postage  to  cover  time  and  mailing. 


Environment  and  Heredity 
Editor,  Science  Questions  and  Answers: 

I’m  glad  that  you  are  combining  your  two 
“mags"  because  in  the  first  place  the  Ala  WoK- 
DER  was  not  as  good  as  the  Science  Wonder, 
although  I hope  you  will  not  drop  Mr.  Chap- 
pelow  because  he  was  the  best  author  in  the 
Air  Wonder.  Second,  we  will  be  able  to  buy 
all  your  “mags”  now. 

Will  you  please  answer  these  science  questions? 

1.  Will  absolute  zero  cold  kill  every  germ 
and  are  there  any  germs  or  insects  that  can 
live  in  this  temperature? 

2.  What  makes  a person’s  character  and 
habits?  Is  it  hereditary  first  and  environment 
second  or  is  it  all  hereditary  or  else  all  environ- 
tqent?  Will  you  please  explain? 

Hubert  Lemerise, 

850  W.  50th  Place, 
Chicago,  111. 

(1.  According  to  the  mathematical  concep- 
tion of  absolute  zero  It  is  a temperature  in 
which  absolutely  no  heat  resides  within  the 
body  and  therefore  all  motion  of  its  molecules 
ceases.  Naturally  by  definition  this  is  a 
temperature  at  which  no  living  thing  could 
exist. 

2.  The  two  schools  of  psychologists:  one  who 
lays  the  greatest  stress  on  character  develop- 
ment to  heredity,  and  the  other  to  environ- 
ment have  never  been  reconciled.  Those 
students  cl  our  natures,  however,  who  are 
free  to  choose,  state  that  it  is  undeniable  that 
blood  Inheritance  is  a great  force  in  molding 
our  characters,  and  if  the  traits  passed  on  by 
the  blood  are  dominant  ones:  that  is  in 
intensity— environment  will  not  affect  it.  Thus 
a man  with  an  inherited  tendency  to  drink 
may  have  it  to  such  a degree  that  nothing  can 
change  it.  On  the  other  hand,  while  we  are 
young,  say  under  the  age  of  seven,  our  minds 
are  like  sponges,  receptive  to  alt  infinences 
about  us,  and  here  the  effect  of  environment 
[which  means  association  and  experience,  etc.] 
makes  a deep  and  Ineradicable  Impression  on 
our  beings.  Thus  environment  tends  to  form 
habits  and  traits  of  character  and  may  form 
them  to  such  a degree  that  they  override  in- 
herited characteristics.— Editor.) 


What  Underlies  the  Ultra-Violet  Ray? 

Editor,  Science  Questions  and  Answers: 

1.  What  is  the  principle  underlying  the  ultra- 
violet ray?  Is  it  useful.  Can  it  be  harmful? 

2.  What  is  the  exact  number  of  chemicals 
known  to  science? 

3.  What  attraction  if  any  does  the  earth  have 
for  other  heavenly  bodies? 

Harry  Kestenbaum, 

25-22  Steinway  Ave., 
Astoria,  New  York. 

(1.  In  all  radiant  energy,  such  as  that 
which  reaches  us  from  the  sun,  there  are  the 
visible  and  invisible  waves.  The  visible  we 
see  as  light,  the  invisible  is  apparent  to  us 
as  heat  waves  at  one  end  of  the  spectrum  and 
ultra-violet  at  the  other.  The  ultra-violet 
waves  are  the  short  waves  of  the  sun  which 
cause  sun  burn  and  tanning.  Their  effect 
on  the  human  body  is  to  stimulate  cell  divi- 
sion, to  stir  up  the  skin  producing  substances 
that  build  bone  and  fiesh.  ’ Thus,  persons  de- 
prived of  ultra-violet  light  in  one  form  or 
another  in  early  life  get  rickets  and  other 
bone  diseases.  The  ultra-violet  lamp  strains 
out  of  the  light  it  emits  all  but  the  short 
ultra-violet  rays  and  thus  supplies  them  arti- 
ficially. But  since  their  effect  is  so  powerful. 


their  use  entails  quite  a delicate  process,  and 
severe  burns  and  even  fatal  injury  can  be 
caused  by  inexpert  use  of  the  lamps. 

2.  There  are  ninety-two  chemical  elements 
from  which  all  the  known  substances  are  con- 
structed. In  other  words  every  substance  we 
know  is  simply  a combination  in  one  form 
or  another  of  two  or  more  of  these  chemical 
elements.  Such  things  as  oxygen,  nitrogen, 
gold,  silver,  carbon  etc.  are  all  elements. 
Water  is  a combination  of  two  elements,  hy- 
drogen and  oxygen. 

3.  The  earth  pulls  on  every  other  body  in 
the  universe  with  a force  increasing  with  the 
size  of  the  body  and  decreasing  by  the  square 
of  the  distance  that  the  body  is  away.  Natu- 
rally the  influence  of  the  earth  on  other  plan- 
ets and  stellar  bodies  is  negligible  because 
the  earth’s  attraction  is  completely  overshad- 
owed by  that  of  other  bodies. — Editor.) 


faster  than  the  light  waves,  the  later  waves 
emitted  [when  the  body  is  closer  to  the  ob- 
server] would  reach  him  before  the  earlier 
waves  and  therefore  the  body  would  appear  to 
recede,  in  other  words  waves  would  reach  him 
continuously  which  showed  the  body  in  its 
earlier  and  earlier  positions. 

2.  Our  correspondent  has  possibly  a mis- 
taken idea  of  the  nature  and  direction  of 
light  waves.  There  are  two  possible  ideas 
that  he  might  have  in  mind.  The  first  is 
the  conception  given  us  by  Einstein  that  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  a straight  line.  There- 
fore what  appears  to  be  one  is  only  a portion 
of  an  infinitely  flat  curve.  Because  the  uni- 
verse is  curved,  light  waves  really  travel 
in  a curved  path.  If  this  is  Ur.  Smith’s 
meaning,  then  of  course  the  curve  of  the 
light  rays  would  be  determined  by  the  curve 
of  the  universe  and  not  by  its  speed. 


(ttiniitiniKiiiimmmiiiiiiif  Ilium* 


Showing  how  a 
person  made  in- 
visible by  bend- 
ing light  rays 
about  him  could 
not  see.  By  his 
Invisibility  ap- 
paratus, the  light 
rays  coming 
from  the  “Ob- 
jeef’  or  any  ob- 
ject are  bent 
around  him. 
Kays,  therefore, 
do  not  reach 
him  and  he  is 
invisible.  But  as 
rays  do  not 
reach  him,  he 
can  see  nothing 
beyond  himself. 


UHiiKiiiiiMmiuimuiimiiiimiuiia 


The  Object  Could  Hit  Him 

Editor,  Science  Questions  and  Answers: 

1.  If  an  object  were  traveling  toward  one 
at  a speed  3 miles  per  second  greater  than  the 
speed  of  light  would  it  seem  to  be  going  away 
at  the  rate  of  3 miles  per  second? 

2.  Light  is  supposed  to  be  curved.  If  it 
traveled  twice  as  fast  would  it  bo  curved  one 
fourth  as  much? 

3.  If  one  were  made  invisible  by  curving  the 
light  waves  around  him,  would  he  then  be  able  to 
see?  For  then  no  light  would  reach  him? 

Archie  Smith, 
Williamsburg,  Ncbr. 


(1.  Our  correspondent  is  correct.  If  the 
body  were  to  travel  toward  the  observer  with 
the  sipeed  of  light*  the  light  waves  would  re- 
main with  it,  and  therefore  it  would  seem  to 
remain  motionless.  But  if  the  body  traveU 

369 


The  second  conception  is  thst  light  ray*  are 
CtTRVEI)  FROM  THEIR  PATH  by  an  elec- 
tro-magnetic field  such  as  Is  possessed  by  the 
son.  Therefore  the  position  of  otaro  whose 
light  must  pass  close  to  the  sun  in  order  to 
roach  us.  Is  different  from  their  real  position, 
lor  then  light  rays  are  bent.  Now  even  in 
this  case  the  curvature  of  the  light  waves 
would  be  affected  chiefly  by  the  magnitude 
of  the  attracting  masa  and  Its  power  to  draw 
them  away.  Of  course  a greater  speed  to  light 
might  have  the  effect  of  resisting  somewhat 
the  attracting  power  of  the  mass  and  the 
curvature  would  he  proportionately  leas. 

3.  Our  correspondent  has  hit  here  on  qaita 
an  Important  point  in  connection  with  stories 
of  invfslbUity.  It  is  true  that  if  a man  were 
to  make  himself  invisible  by  having  all  light 
raya  past  around  him,  he  himself  could  see 
nothing  for  then  no  light  ray*  could  reach 
him.  The  drawing  illustrates  this.— Editor.) 


IN  this  department  we  shall  publish  every  month  your  pinions.  After 
all,  this  IS  your  magazine  and  it  is  edited  for  you.  Ii  we  fall  down 
on  the  choice  of  our  stories,  or  if  the  editorial  board  slips  up  occa- 
sionally, it  is  up  to  you  to  voice  your  opinion.  It  makes  no  difference 
whether  your  letter  is  complimentary,  critical,  or  whether  it  contains 


a good  old-fashioned  brick  bat.  All  are  equally  welcome.  All  of  your 
letters,  as  much  as  space  will  allow,  will  be  published  here  for  the  benefit 
of  all.  Doe  to  the  large  influx  of  mail,  no  communications  to  this  depart- 
ment are  answered  individually  unless  25c  in  stamps  to  cover  time  and 
postage  is  remitted. 


Prom  the  German  Interplanetary  Society 

Editor,  WONDER  STORIES'. 

|t  gives  us  great  pleasure,  to  find  in  your 
Magazine  the  letter  of  the  American  Inter- 
planetary Society  and  we  beg  you,  to  tell  your 
readers,  that  there  is  in  Germany  a similar 
society,  our  **Verein  fiir  Raumschiffahrt  c.  V. 
Berlin  SW  11,  Bernburgerstr,  24.’*  The  “Vcrein 
fur  Raumschiffahrt’*  with  more  than  1000  mem- 
bers in  Germany,  Austria,  France  and  Russia  is 
today  the  greatest  European  association  for 
exploring  rockets  and  the  questions  of  space- 
flying  and  there  is  no  “rocket-scientist”  in 
Europe,  who-  is  not  a member  of  our  “Verein.” 
The  well  known  names  of  the  most  famous 
members  of  our  “Verein”  are;  Professor  Her- 
mann Oberth,  Walter  Hohraann,  Rudolf  Nebel, 
E.  W‘urm,  Willy  Ley,  Otto  Willi  Gail,  Gerda 
Maurus  (the  “Girl  in  the  Moon”)  Johannes 
Winkler  and  Fritz  von  Opel  in  CJcrmany.  Guido 
von  Pirquet  in  Austria,  Prof.  Nikolai  A.  Rynin, 
Prof.  K.  E.  Ziolkowsky  and  Dr.  Jakow  L.  Perl- 
mann  in  Russia,  Robert  Esnault-Pelterie  in 
Paris. 

The  greater  part  of  our  members  are  engi- 
neers, physicians,  teachers  of  science,  writers, 
leaders  of  the  great  newspapers,  scientists  and 
technical  men.  “The  Verein”  in  its  last  meet- 
ing invited  notable  men  to  speak  on  the  more 
technical  and  theoretical,  questions  of  space- 
flying— science.  Prof.  Hermann  Oberth  spoke 
about  the  theory  of  the  Moon-rocket,  Johannes 
Winkler  about  the  theory  of  rockets  with  liquids, 
Engineer  Nebel  about  the  construction  of  the 
Oberth-rocket  and  Willy  Ley  about  the  history 
of  the  rocket.  In  the  next  meting,  Willy  Ley 
will  speak  about  “Science  Fiction.” 

The  “Verein  fiir  Raumschiffahrt”  has  three 
rockets  in  the  construction  by  Prof.  Oberth,  two 
little  ones  for  studying  the  rocket  itself  and  a 
greater  one  for  exploring  the  stratosphere  with 
a high  speed  of  100  km.  The  first  rocket  will 
be  started  in  short  time. 

The  dues  of  membership  are  $3  per  annum', 
payable  in  advance.  We  give  out  for  our  mem- 
bers a monthly  “Mitteilungsblatt”  and  we’ll 
publish  in  short  time  our  monthly  The  Rocket 
again,  which  we  have  published  since  1927. 

Men,  who  want  to  know  more  of  us  may  write 
to  Willy  Ley,  “Verein  fiir  Raumschiffahrt  e, 
iV.”  24,  Bernburger  Strasse.  Berlin  SW  11, 
Cermany. 

(We  are  very  glad  to  hear  of  the  splendid 
progress  that  is  being  made  in  Europe  particu- 
larly in  Germany  in  the  exploration  of  the 
interplanetary  question.  The  thousand  mem- 
bers possessed  by  the  Society  is  undoubtedly  a 
Strong  nucleus  for  the  furtherance  of  any  defi- 
nite plans  for  an  interplanetary  trip  that  may 
be  made  in  the  future. 

We  believe  that  our  German  friends  are  to 
be  congratulated  on  the  forward-looking  atti- 
tude of  their  scientists  and  technical  men  toward 
the  question  of  space  flying.  We  would  be  very 
happy  to  be  kept  informed  of  their  progress 
and  would  appreciate  very  much  a copy  of 
Mr.  Ley’s  address  on  “science  fiction.”— Edi/or.) 


Down  With  Heart  Throbs 

Editor,  WONDER  STORIES'. 

Upon  reading  the  “Reader  Speaks”  columns 
of  the  August  issue  I noticed  Miss  Carmen 
McCablc’s  letter  and  your  footnote. 

Miss  McCable  squawks  about  romance  and 
all  such  slush  in  our  magazine  which  heretofore 
has  been  the  only  real  “He-Man’s”  magazine  I 
could  find.  If  she  wants  slush  let  her  go  to 
the  movies  or  buy  such  magazines  of  which 
there  is  an  abundance.  Why  profane  a real 
magazine  for  the  sake  of  the  minority. 

I am  not  a woman  hater,  in  fact  I used  to 
get  as  much  thrill  as  the  next  fellow  out  of  a 
sice  moonlight  necking  party.  BUT  if  I wanted 


to  read  about  love,  etc.,  I would  buy  maga- 
zines which  make  a specialty  of  such  stories 
and  not  try  to  make  the  authors  of  a certain 
magazine  conform  to  my  own  peculiar  ideas 
which  would  not  conform  to  their  own  and 
which  would  tend  to  spoil  their  technique. 

When  I want  scientific  stories  I want  them 
to  deal  with  the  wonders  of  science  and  the  pos- 
sibilities of  such  science  in  the  future.  Those 
stories  should  be  about  super-men,  geniuses  and 
cool  and  calculating  scientists  which  would  rate 
them  more  respect  from  the  reader  than  would 
a scientist  with  tears  streaming  down  his  cheeks, 
a woman  hanging  onto  his  suspenders,  a squalling 
kid  in  one  arm  and  his  other  hand  pulling  down 
a switch  that  would  wipe  all  humanity  off  the 
map.  Bah  I and  a couple  more  bah’s.  Keep 
love  and  romance  in  their  own  magazine,  other- 
wise you  would  have  a magazine  which  would 
be  in  the  same  class  as  the  rest  of  the  cheap 
thrillers.  "Vou  would  not  be  living  up  to  your 
new  slogan,  “The  Magazine  of  Prophetic  Fic- 
tion” because  you  can’t  prophesy  about  love, 
it’s  too  uncertain. 

For  several  years  I have  been  buying  all  the 
science  fiction  magazines  I can  find,  but  if 
you  revert  to  the  primitive  as  Miss  Carmen 
suggests,  count  me  out  as  a reader.  And  now, 
editor,  pull  yourself  together  and  give  us  what 
you  have  always  been  supplying,  “SCIENCE, 
WHOLLY  SCIENCE,  AND  NOTHING  BUT 
SCIENCE”  so  help  you  Hanna,  and  long  may 


ON  LETTERS 


Because  of  the  large  number  of  let- 
ters  we  receive,  we  find  it  physi- 
cally impossible  to  print  them  all  in 
full.  Hay  we  request  our  correspond- 
ents, therefore,  to  make  their  letters 
as  brief  and  to  the  point  as  they  can; 
as  this  will  aid  in  their  selection  for 
publication  ? Whenever  possible,  we 
will  print  the  letter  in  full;  but  in 
some  cases,  when  lack  of  space  pro- 
hibits publishing  the  complete  letter, 
we  will  give  a rtsumd  of  it  in  a 
single  paragraph. 


you  wave  under  that  banner,  but  may  you  crash 
hard  if  you  betray  the  trust  of  US,  your  old 
readers  who  gave  the  magazine  its  support  in  its 
infant  stages. 

C.  K.  Rodgers, 

218  W.  Simpson  St., 
Mecbanicsburg,  Pa. 

(As  we  anticipated,  the  letter  of  Miss  McCable 
in  our  August  issue  has  raised  a storm  of  con- 
troversy for  and  against  her  desire  for  more 
romance.  While  we  agree  in  the  main  with 
Mr.  Rodger’s  point  of  view,  he  must  not  con- 
fuse slushiness  with  romance.  We  would  never 
permit  the  sort  of  slushy  trash  that  is  found 
in  so  many  present-day  magazines,  yet  that  is 
not  romance.  What  do  our  other  readers  think? 
Should  our  stories  be  about  cold-blooded  scien- 
tists, or  should  the  scientists  be  human,  like  our- 
selves with  our  normal  human  desires?  We  in- 
vite our  readers*  comment. — Editor,') 


Suffering  from  Dyspepsia  P 

Editor,  WONDER  STORIES: 

I have  just  finished  your  brickbat  cluttered 
“Reader  Speaks”  in  the  August  issue  of  Won- 
der Stories  and  have  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  all  of  your  readers  are  suffering  from 
dyspepsia  or  some  irritable  trouble  for  every 
second  letter  that  1 read  seemed  to  be  from 
some  chronic  crank. 


Your  readers  say  that  Dr.  Keller  only  looks 
at  the  darker  side  of  life  in  his  stories,  yet 
none  of  your  readers  have  much  of  the  optimist 
in  the  way  they  write  their  letters. 

Another  of  your  critics  revolt  at  the  thought 
of  your  money  making  schemes,  and  yet  how 
would  they  be  able  to  read  your  wonderful 
magazine  if  you  were  financially  embarrassed. 

In  closing  I wish  to  say  that  your  two  best 
stories  were  “The  Human  Termites”  and  “A 
Rescue  from  Jupiter.”  The  only  credit  I can 
give  your  readers  is  that  they  have  a wonderful 
vocabulary  of  severe  adjectives. 

Charles  Rush  Jr., 

2665  Grand  Concourse, 

New  York  City, 

(Perhaps,  Mr.  Rush  the  fault  that  you  find 
belongs  to  us.  Instead  of  consigning  such 
“irritable  letters”  to  the  wastebasket,  as  many 
publishers  do,  we  believe  in  printing  them  and 
allowing  our  disgruntled  readers  to  air  fully 
their  grievances.  Unfortunately  therefore,  in 
order  to  accomodate  the  brickbatters  we  have 
been  forced  to  forego  printing  the  many  letters 
of  commendation  that  we  receive.  In  other 
words,  after  printing  for  months  and  months 
the  nice  things  our  readers  have  been  saying 
to  us,  we  are  giving  the  brickbatters  their 
inning.— £dif  or. ) 


Will  Blossom  Into  Achievements 

Editor,  WONDER  STORIES'. 

I certainly  have  enjoyed  Mr.  Gernsback*^ 
publications.  He  is  a pioneer  editor  in  the 
popularization  of  science;  and  that  means  much 
to  a fellow  like  myself  who,  in  days  gone  by, 
had  enough  laboratory  work  to  remember  some- 
thing of  the  scientific  spirit  who  is  impressed 
deeply  by  the  great  advance  in  actual  scientific 
achievement  and  the  speculations  toward  the 
future  that  logical  extension  is  leading. 

1 am  getting  better  informed  on  a lot  of 
truths  that  have  been  uncovered.  The  field  is 
so  large  and  so  interesting;  and  Mr.  Gems- 
back’s  master  hand  is  also  I feel  a guiding 
band.  His  work  editorially  and  careful  notes 
are  things  we  come  to  rely  on.  The  whole  in- 
fluence is  enlargening,  broadening  and  unlift- 
ing;  and  he  is  one  w^  concedes  to  the  imagi- 
nation something  of  its  higher  place. 

These  wonder  wonderies  are  better  than  many 
a college  course.  There  is  something  in  them 
of  real  meat  besides  the  entertainment.  I rec- 
ognize a lot  of  philosophy,  history  and  keen 
insight  in  so  many  of  the  able  stories  that  you 
choose.  Doubtless  as  has  been  said  many  times 
before,  scientists  find  inspiration  and  even  key 
ideas  that  will  blossom  later  into  actual  achieve- 
ment. 1 would  go  without  any  other  magazine 
before  I would  ^ve  up  Mr.  Gernsback’s. 

James  O.  Walker, 

North  Union  Street, 
Burlington,  Vt. 

(We  think  that  Mr.  Walker  has  struck  the 
key-note  of  our  editorial  policy.  There  is  a 
certain  t3T>e  of  story  that*  has  only  a “story” 
appeal;  it^  forgotten  as  soon  as  the  book  is 
laid  down.  There  is  another  type  which  details 
in  story  form  hardly  more  than  laboratory  ex- 
periments. When  one  finishes  one,  he  has  a 
suffocating  sense  of  having  been  compressed 
into  test-tubes  and  dynamos.  There  is  a third 
type  which  recounts  the  adventures  of  human 
brings  face  to  face  with  the  tremendous  things 
of  future  science,  gigantic  mysteries  of  future 
worlds;  nations  and  worlds  battling  for  their 
very  life.  These  super-dramas  are  what  we 
want  and  print,  because  they  are  what  our 
readers  want.  They  interest,  thrill  and  yet 
remain  with  the  reader  as  vividly  as  though 
he  bad  gone  through  these  actual  experiences 
himself.  That  is  ^cause  they  have  imagination. 
Such  stories  we  will  always  print. — Editor.) 
{Continued  on  poge  372) 


370 


WONDER  STORIES 


371 


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372 


B^QNDER  STORIES 


THE  READER  SPEAKS 

{Continued  from  page  370) 


Wanted : A Correspondent 

Editor,  IVONDER  STORIES: 

I am  writing  to  you  firstly  to  congratulate 
you  upon  your  splendid  magazine.  \bu  will 
realize  what  a joy  it  is  to  me,  a keen  science 
enthusiast,  when  I tell  you  that  here  in  Eng- 
land nothing  of  its  kind  is  issued.  One  has 
either  to  read  a technical  magazine  or  some 
pseudo-scientific  stories.  Your  stories  arc,  how- 
ever, reasonable  and  serve  up  facts  in  a very 
nice  way.  I very  much  appreciate  your  “Science 
News  of  the  Month^*  and  “The  Reader  Speaks.’* 
I wish  you  the  very  best  of  wishes  and  assure 
you  of  my  warm  and  continued  support. 

Now,  secondarily,  I should  like  very  much  to 
get  in  touch  with  someone  about  25  years  of 
age  in  the  States.  I am  a school  master  and 
am  taking  a B.Sc.  course  at  the  London  Uni* 
versity.  My  particular  interest  is  in  physics, 
chemistry  and  meteorology. 

As  you  will  guess  my  time  is  somewhat  lim- 
ited and  so  I should  like  you  to  put  me  into 
touch  with  someone.  I do  not  mind  whether 
it  is  a lady  or  gentleman. 

If  your  rules  do  not  allow  this  perhaps  you 
could  publish  my  letter. 

Francis  H.  £.  Tidmarsb, 

M.I,H.,  F.R,  Met.  Soc., 

100  Glenparke  Road, 

Forest  Gate, 
Essex,  England. 

(We  are  sure  that  Mr,  Tidmarsh  will  find 
from  among  our  readers  a number  of  people  who 
would  be  happy  to  correspond  with  him.  Such 
persons  are  invited  to  write  to  Mr,  Tidmarsh 
directly.— Editor. ) 


REAL  DETECTIVE  TALES 

When  Alfred  (“Jake")  Lingle,  first  time  in  this  month’s  issue  of 


Tribune  reporter,  was  shot  down 
and  killed  at  high  noon  in  the 
heart  of  Chicago,  on  June  9 of 
this  year,  the  sensation  was  felt 
throughout  America. 

Newspapers  everywhere  have 
played  up  this  greatest  of  all 
crime  stories.  But  not  one  news- 
paper has  printed  the  real  facts. 
These  facts  are  published  for  the 


LOOK  FOR  THIS  COVER 

Inside  Story  of  "Jake"  Lingle  I Murder 


Now  on  Sale  at  All  News  Stands 


REAL  DETEaiVE  TALES. 

Read 

'The  Reporter  Who  Blew 
the  Lid  Off  Chicago" 

See  how  the  “big  shots’’  of 
Chicago’s  underworld  have  cor- 
rupted not  only  the  police  and 
men  in  public  office,  but  even 
the  Chicago  newspapers. 

Behind  the  murder  of  “Jake" 
Lingle  lies  an  appalling  record 
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parallel.  The  whole  sensational 
story  is  told,  completely  and  in 
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REAL 

DETECTIVE 

Yales 


The  Density  of  the  Ether 

Editor,  fVONDER  STORIES: 

I wish  to  commend  you  on  your  magazine 
which  I enjoy  very  much.  I would  like  to  ask 
you  a question.  I have  noticed  that  Sir  Oliver 
Lodge  has  figured  the  comparative  density  of 
the  ether.  Now  I have  done  some  figuring  on 
it  also.  As  you  know,  sound  waves  travel  faster 
in  the  water  than  in  the  air.  The  thought 
occurred  to  me  to  find  the  difference  in.  the 
speed  of  light  as  compared  with  that  of  Mund 
and  so  arrive  at  the  difference  in  density,  as 
between  air  and  ether.  Reducing  1S6,000  miles 
to  feet  and  dividing  by  1,100  (speed  of  sound 
in  air  is  1,100  feet  a second)  I got  a quotient 
of  9,000,000.  In  other  words  if  my  theory  is 
correct  the  ether  would  be  9,000,000  times  as 
dense  as  air.  What  do  you  think  of  it? 

Clarence  Tolbcrg, 

Route  2, 
Roosevelt,  Minn. 

(Unfortunately,  although  Mr.  Tolberg  has  an 
interesting  idea  he  has  confused  a number  of 
scientific  facts.  It  is  not  fair  to  compare  the 
speed  of  light  and  speed  of  sound  in  air,  for 
they  are  different  forms  of  wave  motion.  It 
would  be  fairer  to  compare  the  speed  of  light 
in  air  and  in  pocuo.  Professor  Michelson  is 
preparing  to  make  a quite  complete  test  of  the 
speed  of  light  in  a vacuum.  It  is  not  expected 
however  that  the  difference  between  the  two 
speeds  of  light  will  be  anything  more  than 
1/10, 000th  part.  Furthermore  the  ether,  if  it 
exists,  pervades  both  airless  and  atmospheric 
space,  so  we  can  never  get  far  enough  away 
from  its  effects  to  really  measure  it  quanti- 
tatively. Einstein  has  stated  that  he  believes 
the  ether  tb^ry  to  be  false;  and  among  many 
other  prominent  present-day  scientists  it  is  los- 
ing ground.— £ditor.) 

The  Heroine  Jumps  Off  a Cliff 

Editor,  PP^ONDER  STORIES: 

I have  been  reading  your  magazine  for  some 
time  but  have  never  written  a letter.  I was 
prompted  to  offer  my  opinion  after  reading  Miss 
McCable’s  letter  and  your  comments,  in  the 
August  issue. 

I heartily  agree  with  Miss  McCable  as  to 
the  necessity  of  romance  in  any  kind  of  story, 
primarily  a science  fiction  story.  Most  of  them 
are  dry  enough  but  when  an  author  does  not 
put  romance  in  his  story,  well,  it  just  doesn’t 
click,  with  me  anyway.  A story  with  pre- 
dominate romance  where  the  beautiful  blond 
heroine  jumps  off  a cliff  because  Percy  has  been 
eaten  by  some  prehistoric  monster  supposed  to 
have  been  extinct  for  centuries  is  just  as  far 
to  the  other  extreme.  You  have  a very  good 
heading  for  your  cover,  MYSTERY- AD  VEN- 
TURE-ROMANCE. If  your  magazine  fulfifills 
that  it  is  O.  K.  in  my  estimation. 

(Continued  on  page  373) 


WONDER  STORIES 


373 


THE  READER  SPEAKS 

iContinued  from  page  372) 


Some  knowledge  of  science  can  be  gained  by 
the  reader  if  the  writer  gives  a few  formulas 
with  which  to  explain  his  point.  But  when 
we  even  are  told  how  the  pork  and  beans,  car- 
ried on  the  interplanetary  voyage,  were  cooked 
it  is  expecting  too  much  of  human  nature  when 
you  expect  a reader  to  finish  the  story. 

Speaking  of  human  nature  brings  up  another 
point.  Ever  since  the  time  of  primitive  man 
the  story  of  people’s  lives,  hopes,  ambitions  have 
been  almost  the  same  as  in  m^ern  times  and 
in  my  opinion  they  will  continue  to  be  the 
same  as  long  as  life  exists  on  this  earth. 

John  H.  Bishop, 

204  Fourth  St., 
Falmouth,  Kentucky. 

(Mr.  Bishop  besides  giving  another  point  of 
view  on  the  romance-cold  blooded  controversy 
gives  another  sidelight  on  it.  Are  our  readers 
really  interested  in  inventions  in  themselves  or 
are  they  interested  in  the  effect  of  those  inven- 
tions on  human  beings  like  themselves?  Do 
great  inventions  change  our  hopes,  ambitions, 
bates  and  fears?  If  so,  what  will  the  changes 
be  like,  and  what  sort  of  people  will  we  become? 

Are  our  readers  interested  in  knowing  how 
people  will  love,  hate,  work,  dream  and  play  in 
future  times — or  are  they  simply  interested  in 
knowing  that  marvelous  devices  have  been  in- 
vented, used  and  perhaps  destroyed?  We  would 
like  some  comments, — Editor.) 


From  Far-0£E  Australia 

Editor,  WONDER  STORIES: 

I have  followed  your  wonderful  magazine 
with  interest  since  its  inception  but  I don’t 
remember  seeing  a letter  in  the  “Reader  Speaks” 
column  from  Australia.  I want  to  tell  you 
)iow  much  Wonder  Stories  is  appreciated  here. 
Science  fiction  is  the  only  fiction  I never  can 
get  enough  of,  and  your  magazine  supplies  the 
world’s  best. 

Reviewing  the  first  twelve  monthlies  and 
three  quarterlies,  I have  found  most  of  the 
stories  very  good;  some  not  so  good  and  a few 
were  pure  trash. 

The  best  long  stories  were:  “The  Human 
Termites,”  “The  Moon  Conquerors,”  “The 
Stone  from  the  Moon,”  “A  Rescue  from 
Jupiter.”  The  worst  was  “The  Reign  of  the 
Ray.” 

The  best  short  stories  were  “The  Space 
Dwellers,”  “The  World  of  100  Men,”  “The 
Cubic  City,”  “The  Feminine  Metamorphosis.’' 
The  worst  were  “The  Red  Dimension,”  “The 
Metal  World,”  “The  Vapor  Intelligence,”  “In 
Two  Worlds.” 

The  best  issues  were  November,  1929,  and 
May,  1930.  The  worst  were  January  and  Feb- 
ruary, 1930.  The  best  and  worst  covers  were 
November,  1929,  and  January,  1930,  respectively. 

“The  Evening  Star”  was  fairly  good  but  not 
as  good  as  “The  Conquerors”  and  not  to  be 
compared  with  that  mind-staggering  masterpiece 
“The  Human  Termites.”  It  proves  that  a man 
can’t  be  cverythingf.  As  an  astronomer  Dr. 
Keller  is  a great  physician.  The  end  of  '*The 
Evening  Star”  was  very  weak.  I was  very 
sorry  to  see  that  brilliant  race  of  “Conquerors’* 
wip^  out.  Nevertheless  Dr,  Keller  is  a genius. 
Otto  Willi  Gail,  Captain  Meek  and  Walter 
Kateley  are  I think  the  best  authors.  Ed  Earl 
Repp  writes  good  yarns  when  he  can  hold  back 
his  imagination.  “Gulf  Stream  Gold”  proved 
that. 

Lilith  Lorraine  is  an  idealist  but  no  scientist. 
Harl  Vincent  is  not  bad  but  ask  him  to  learn  a 
little  about  dinosaurs  before  he  uses  them  in 
another  story.  Francis  Flagg  is  another  who 
lets  bis  imagination  run  away  with  him.  If 
Raymond  Gallun  has  any  more  ideas  like  the 
one  in  “The  Space  Dwellers”  tel!  him  to  write 
them  up  as  fast  as  possible.  It  was  wonderful. 

Before  closing  I must  insert  a word  of  praise 
for  that  inimitable  artist,  Paul — he  is  a world 
beater.  Three  cheers  for  Wonder  Stories, 

Cecil  Roberts, 

176  Toorak  Road, 
Melbourne,  Victoria,  Australia. 

^ (Coming  all  the  way  from  Australia,  this  letter 
gives  us  a good  perspective  on  ourselves.  Mr. 
Roberts  has  arranged  his  classifications  so  peatly 
and  vividly  that  we  have  a clear  picture  where, 
according  to  him,  wc  have  excelled  or  fallen 
down.  His  letter  is  so  complete  in  itself  that 
comment  is  hardly  necessary.  We  have  learned 
much  about  stories,  issues,  covers  and  authors, 
could  ask 


The  Best  Ten  Are  Chosen 

Editor,  WONDER  STORIES: 

First  I want  to  make  a few  comments  on  the 
first  volume  of  Wonder  Stories  (the  change  of 
name  sure  is  an  improvement).  Now  all  you 
have  to  do  is  cut  the  science  out  of  the  text 
and  everything  will  be  O.  K. 

The  ten  best  stories  in  Vol.  1 were,  in  my 
estimation: 

1.  “The  City  of  the  Living  Dead.”  This  story 
is  far  better  than  any  other  I’ve  read  with 
the  exception  of  a few  by  J.  Schlossel  and 
Francis  Flagg.  It  had  an  entirely  different 
theme  and  was  written  well.  It  was  a 
masterpiece ! Let’s  have  some  more  by 
these  authors. 

2.  “An  Adventure  Into  Time.”  This  comes 
up  to  my  expectations  of  Mr.  Flagg. 

3.  “The  Human  Termites.” 

4.  “The  Conquerors.” 

5.  “The  Evening  Star.”  The  last  three  are 
some  of  Dr.  Keller’‘s  best.  They  will  be 
remembered  for  a long  time. 

6.  “The  Alien  Intelligence.”  Jack  Williamson 
is  following  A.  Merritt. 

7.  “The  Space  Dwellers.”  Another  new  idea. 

8.  “The  Land  of  the  Bipos.” 

9.  “Into  the  Subconscious.”  A swell  story.  It 
made  me  do  a lot  of  thinking. 

10.  “The  Ancient  Brain,”  Why  I like  this 
story  I don’t  know.  But  I do  know  that 
I enjoyed  it. 


IF  you  have  not  as  yet  seen  the 
SUMMER  WONDER  STO- 
RIES QUARTERLY 
WATCH  FOR  THE 
SILVER  COVER 

Be  sure  to  procure  a copy  from 
your  newsstand. 

NOW  ON  SALE 

This  magazine  specializes  in  in- 
terplanetarian  science  fiction  and 
the  Summer  issue  contains  the  fol- 
lowing marvelous  stories: 
“Electropolis” 

By  Otfrid  von  Hanstein 
‘‘The  War  of  the  Planets” 

By  R,  H.  Romans 
“The  Tower  of  Evil” 

By  Schachner  & Zagat 
“The  Eternal  Man  Revives” 

By  D.  D.  Sharp 
“The  Monsters  of  Neptune” 

By  Henrik  Dahl  Juve 


And  now  for  the  ten  best  authors: 

1.  Francis  Flagg.  He  sure  can  be  depended 
on.  to  write  some  good  yarns  each  with  a 
different  idea. 

2.  David  H.  Keller.  Steady  Dr.  Keller  al- 
ways gives  us  a good  story. 

3.  S.  P.  Meek. 

4.  Harl  Vincent. 

5.  Fletcher  Pratt. 

6.  Ed.  Hamilton. 

7.  Miles  J,  Breuer. 

8.  Jack  Williamson. 

9.  Walter  Kateley. 

10.  Oare  Winger  Harris. 

And  before  I sign  off,  just  a few  generU 
comments. 

Cut  out  the  science.  You’re  trying  to  publish 
a fiction  magazine  not  a text  book. 

Inspire  the  covers  with  a little  more  wonder. 
They’re  getting  cooler  each  month.  And  please 
don’t  continue  the  white  backgrounds.  They’re 
dead. 

Why  not  yield  to  demand  and  print  a few 
pages  of  reprints  each  month. 

With  the  exception  of  Paul,  Winter  and 
Ruger  your  artists  are  not  good. 

Where  are  those  extra  pages  and  illustrations 
you  promised  a few  issues  back. 

Why  not  get  some  of  the  old  faithfuls  like 
A.  Merritt,  Stanton  Coblentz,  J.  Schlossel,  A. 
Hyatt  Verrill,  Ray  Cummings,  etc.,  back  and 
get  rid  of  some  like  Ed  Earl  Repp  and  Henrik 
Dahl  Juve  whose  stories  all  have  the  same 
{Continued  on  page  374) 


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374 


WONDER  STORIES 


An  Interplanetary  Story 

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THE  READER  SPEAKS 

{Continued  from  page  373) 


fundamental  plot. 

And  finally,  to  sum  up  my  opinion  of  Vol.  I, 
it  was  only  fair;  true,  there  were  many  good 
stories  but  these  were  more  than  matched  by 
the  bad  ones.  I’m  especially  sick  of  such 
plots  as: 

The  earth  being  attacked  by  some  people  from 
the  interior  or  from  some  other  planet,  and 
finally  we  are  rescued  by  some  scientist  with 
his  new  space-ship,  or  new  ray,  or  some  such 
thing.  This  appears  in  about  every  other  story, 
(I  wonder  if  there  is  a peaceful  land  in.  the 
universe.) 

The  one  about  a few  heroes  getting  stuck  in 
the  interior  of  the  earth  is  also  getting  popular. 
The  only  good  one  I’ve  read  is  Bauer’s  "A  Sub- 
terranean Adventure.”  This  promises  to  be  a 
masterpiece,  but  that  is  to  be  expected  of  Mr. 
Bauer. 

I sure  do  wish  Wonper  Stories  a lot  of  luck. 

Herbert  Fixler, 

70  Terrace  Ave., 
Jamaica,  N.  Y. 

(Mr.  Fixler  has  evidently  given  the  subject  of 
the  selection  of  the  best  ten  stories  and  authors 
quite  a good  deal  of  thought.  His  selections  are 
bound  to  raise  a storm  of  discussion  by  readers 
who  approve  or  disapprove  of  these  “All-Amer- 
ican” science  fiction  tens.  Who  also  has  a set 
of  tens  to  propose?  We  will  print  the  best 
letters.— 


A Payment  of  Ancient  Debts 

Editor,  WONDER  STORIES: 

I have  read  your  scientific  fiction  for  year^ 
but  have  not  heretofore  written  either  of  my 
likes  or  dislikes,  but  I must  tell  you  now  that 
I found  the  story,  “After  5,000  Years,”  by 
Victor  A.  Endersby,  in  the  July  number,  so 
very  much  to  my  liking  that  I must  tell  you  so. 

It  is  very  effectively  written.  It  is  short, 
with  that  ideal  shortness,  which  consists  of 
writing  as  many  words  as  completely  tells  the 
story,  BUT  NO  MORE!  It,  to  me,  is  scienr 
tific,  though  the  science  is  a little  too  much 
removed  from  mere  material  science  to  be  ap- 
proved by  those  who  fear  to  look  beneath  the 
surface.  Such  payments  of  ancient  debts  are 
being  made  every  day,  though  the  debtor  and 
creditor  almost  always  are  totally  unconscious 
of  the  fact.  They  are  not  always  paid  in  so 
dramatic  a fashion  as  in  Mr.  Endersby’s  story, 
nor  are  they  always  paid  by  the  principals  in  the 
original  transaction,  for  often  these  debts  arc 
balanced  through  others,  in  a sort  of  a rounda- 
bout fashion,  but  in  all  cases,  that  unconscious 
(in  daily  life)  entity  in  each  of  us,  comes  to 
know  and  understand  and  agree  to  the  justice 
of  the  retribution  (so-called). 

I hope  to  see  more  of  this  less  obvious  type  of 
science  fiction,  as  it  teaches  to  the  perhaps  un- 
conscious reader,  a lesson  through  these  stories 
of  others,  that  something  in  him  understands 
and  profits  by.  H.  M.  Duff, 

2098  E.  100th  St., 
Cleveland,  Ohio. 

(Mr.  Endersby  is  a newcomer  to  science  fic- 
tion, but  by  his  prize  story  in  the  Science 
Wonder  Stories  Cover  Contest  and  his  “After 
5,000  Years”  he  has  definitely  established  him- 
self in  the  minds  of  our  readers.  From  what 
we  understand  he  is  a prominent  engineer  on 
the  Pacific  coast  and  enjoys  the  writing  of 
stories  in  which  he  can  express  his  own  original 
thoughts  in  the  form  of  science  fiction.  We 
expect  to  publish  another  of  his  unusual  stories 
shortly. — Editor.) 


What  Great  Vistas  Might  Be  Opened! 

Editor,  WONDER  STORIES: 

I would  like  to  use  your  columns  for  the  dis- 
cussion of  the  possibility  of  our  participation  in 


events,  past  and  future,  and  also  as  a continu- 
ance of  that  subject  as  written  by  R.  Stanley 
Allison  in  the  May  issue. 

The  claim  is  that  all  past  events  are  recorded 
and  need  only  sufficient  apparatus  to  bring  them 
into  the  scope  of  our  vision.  Now  suppose  that 
a machine  could  be  constructed  combining  the 
best  features  of  electrical  apparatus,  for  receiv- 
ing electric  impulses,  and  photographic  materials/ 
for  locating  the  proper  plane  on  which  said 
recorded  events  are  situated,  and  reproducing 
same;  supposed  to  be  advancing  on  inta  time* 
what  great  vistas  would  be  opened  to  maftl 
The  beginning  of  the  lowest  form  of  life  and 
so  on  up  the  line  unti^  man  {s  reached,  the  Hm 
and  fall  of  the  great  governments,  great  battlet 
{Continued  on  page  37S) 


WONDER  STORIES 


375 


THE  READER  SPEAKS 

(Continued  from  page  374) 


of  which  history  speaks  only  dimly,  and  the 
searches  of  man  for  truth  might  be  yielded  to 
us.  It  might  even  be  possible  to  see  the  con- 
trolling factors  of  the  universe. 

As  to  predestination,  perhaps  if  tremendous 
forces  should  be  brought  to  bear,  certain  events 
might  be  forecasted  to  a very  limited  extent. 
However,  should  we  be  successful  in  seeing 
into  the  past  the  reverse  might  be  true  and  we 
could  look  into  the  future. 

I would  appreciate  criticism  of  this,  as  my 
idea  may  be  very  erroneous. 

L.  G.  Gemmell, 

300  Wakelee  Ave., 
Ansonia,  Conn. 

(It  is  true  that  gradually  we  are  getting  to 
the  point  where  we  can  truly  call  ourselves 
“time-binding”  animals.  This  expression  by 
the  way  comes  from  the  pen  of  a noted  writer 
on  the  progress  of  man;  and  he  states  that  man 
differs  from  the  lower  forms  of  life  in  that  the 
others  are  simply  “space  binding”  while  we  are 
also  “time  binding.”  He  meant  that  we  can 
transfer  our  knowledge  in  time,  we  can  build 


Read  These  Thrilling  Stories 
in  the  September  Issue  of 

AMAZING  DETECTIVE 
TALES 

on  Sale  August  15th 

THE  DUEL  IN  THE  DARK 
By  Balmer  attd  McHarg 
A new,  astonishing  Luther  Trant  story 

THE  TEMPLE  OF  DUST 
By  Eugene  George  Key 
The  unwinding  of  a dreadful  mystery 

MENACING  CLAWS 
By  Dr.  D.  H.  Keller 
A superb  Taine  story 

THE  BODY 'that  WOULDN’T 
BURN 

By  Arthur  B.  Reeve 
Craig  Kennedy  never  fails — even  in 
this  one! 

WINGED  DEATH 
By  0.  Beckwith 

How  retribution  came  to  the  maniacal 
murderer 

THE  CAREWE  MURDER 
MYSTERY 
By  Ed  Earl  Repp 

Our  popular  science  fiction  author  con* 
structs^  an  amazing  mystery 

And  many  other  stories  and 
features  in  this  big  issue. 


and  make  provisions  for  the  future;  we  have 
history;  we  have  science  and  we  can  to  a 
measure  predict  the  future  from  what  we  know 
of  the  past  and  present.  H.  G.  Wells  stated 
that  thought  in  a marvelous  little  volume  pub- 
lished some  ten  years  ago  called,  “The  Discovery 
of  the  Future.” 

The  noted  French  astronomer,  Camille  Flam- 
marion,  used  the  same  idea  in  his  story  “Lumen,” 
where  his  subject  saw  events  after  they  had  hap- 
pened thousands  of  years  ago.  This  he  did  by 
speeding  away  from  the  earth  at  a speed  greater 
than  light. 

The  whole  subject  is  one  of  the  most  fas- 
cinating in  all  science,  and  if  man  can  really 
see  into  the  future,  or  if  he  can  get  into  the 
stream  of  time  (which  a recent  scientist  said 
“flows  two  ways”)  he  will  reach  a new  stage  of 
progress  and  enlightenment. — Editor.) 

(Continued  on  page  376) 


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376 


WONDER  STORIES 


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THE  READER  SPEAKS 

{Continued  from  page  375) 


Why  Is  the  Air  Good? 

Editor,  WONDER  STORIES: 

I have  just  finished  reading  the  July  issue  of 
Wonder  Stories  and  would  like  to  ask  a ques- 
tion concerning  one  of  them.  In  the  story  “The 
Time  Valve”  by  Miles  J.  Breuer,  M.D.,  I would 
like  to  know  how  they  were  able  to  keep  the 
air  in.  the  “Photon-ship”  while  traveling  through 
the  universe.  The  time  seemed  short  to  the 
travelers  but  in  reality  they  had  been  Hying 
for  two  hundred  thousand  years.  How  did  they 
keep  the  air  from  turning  into  carbon-dioxide 
(from  their  breathing)  in  all  that  time? 

I would  rate  the  stories  as  follows: 

1.  “The  Bat-Men  of  Mars.” 

2.  “A  Subterranean  Adventure.” 

3.  “The  Time  Valve.” 

4.  “The  War  of  the  Great  Ants.” 

5.  “The  Red  Plague.” 

6.  “The  Flight  of  the  Mercury.” 

7»  “After  5,000  Years.” 

Alfred  Brotman  (age  12), 

2400  Presbury  St., 
Baltimore,  Md. 

(Mr.  Brotman,  though  young,  asks  a question 
that  wise  men  could  not  answer.  We  can  only 
attempt  an  explanation  by  way  of  analogy,  for 
it  is  such  matters  as  he  brings  up  that  has  made 
the  Einstein  theories  so  incomprehensible  to  the 
man  on  the  street. 

Time  is  not  absolute,  it  only  exists  as  a con- 
ception of  our  minds.  Therefore  if  everybody 
in  the  world  were  to  fall  asleep  for  one  hundred 
years  by  suspended  animation,  when  they  all 
awoke  they  would  have  no  knowledge  [in  them- 
selves] that  a century  had  passed.  It  is  only  if 
one  person  were  awake  and  alive  that  he  would 
know  that  the  others  had  slept  that  long.  And 
being  alive  and  active  and  wearing  out  his  body 
he  would  show  the  effects  of  the  hundred  years. 
Now  who  is  right?  Did  the  people  sleep  for 
100  years,  or  was  it  only  that  time  to  one 
man,  because  he  measured  the  time  in  a way 
peculiar  to  himself?  / 

Now  the  people  in  the  space-ship  were  there 
only  a very  short  time,  according  to  their  own 
methods  of  reckoning.  For  all  practical  p\»i 
poses  they  had  left  the  world  of  ordinary  time 
reckoning  and  had  taken  on  themselves  a new 
system.  So  although  according  to  us  they  lived 
in  the  space-ship  for  200,000  years,  according 
to  themselves  and  their  ship  the  time  was  but 
a few  hours. 

We  realize  that  this  explanation  is  sketchy 
and  incomplete,  but  hope  it  clears  up  most  of 
Mr.  Brotman*  questions. — Editor.') 


''  In  Defense 

Editor,  WONDER  STORIESi 

Knowing  the  Gemsbaefc  Publications  and  their 
editors  as  I do,  I cannot  allow  the  scurrilous 
attack  made  on  them  by  one  Booth  Cody  in 
the  August  issue  of  this  magazine  to  go  unan- 
swered. Although  Mr.  Cody's  denunciatory 
charges  were  conclusively  refuted  by  the  editor’s 
rejoinder,  I feel  that  the  views  of  an  unpreju- 
diced reader  are  needed  to  counteract  the  effect 
of  Cody’s  vituperative  outburst. 

From  personal  experience,  I can  attest  to 
the  honesty  and  integrity  of  the  publisher  and 
editors  of  Wonder  Stories.  Not  only  are  they 
bending  all  efforts  to  turn  out  a superior  maga- 
zine, but  they  are  altruistically  devoted  to  the 
furtherance  of  science  fiction.  Their  laudable 
work  in  this  field  deserves  respect  and  admira- 
tion. Mr.  Cody’s  harsh  criticism  was  not  only 
in  bad  taste,  but  it  was  wholly  unwarranted. 

With  assurance  of  continued  support. 

Allen  Glasser, 

1610  University  Ave., 

New  York.  N.  Y. 

(We  thank  Mr.  Glasser  for  this  letter.  We 
have  received  a flood  of  letters  attacking  Mr. 
Cody,  many  of  which  ask  why  he  did  not  print 
his  full  address.  We  entertain  no  hard  feelings 
against  Mr.  Cody.  We  hope  he  will,  however, 
see  the  injustice  of  his  bitter  and  unfounded 
attack. — Editor.) 


Editor,  WONDER  STORIES: 

I noticed  in  your  August,  1930,  issue  a letter 
from  a reader  who  demands  more  romance.  I 
have  no  objection  to  some  of  it  but  please  do 
not  let  it  dominate  your  stories.  If  a reader 
wants  a story  of  mostly  romaijce,  let  him  buy 
an  inferior  science  magazine,  in  which  the 
author  tells  of  his  wonderful  machines  as  if 
they  were  some  sort  of  magic.  Any  authdr  can 
(.Continued  on  page  377) 


JVONDER  STORIES 


377 


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THE  READER  SPEAKS 

{Continued  from  page  376) 


cook  up  a story  like  this. 

I buy  your  magazine  not  only  as  a source  of 
amusement  but  as  a source  of  gaining  some 
scientific  knowledge  without  reading  a lot  of 
dry  scientific  books;  I feel  that  I have  learned 
much  since  I began  reading  your  magazines. 
I don*t  care  for  explanations  that  are  over  my 
head,  but  let’s  have  stories  with  true  science 
with  action  and  a little  romance  to  liven  them 
up! 

John  McReynolds, 

600  N.  Woods  St., 
Sherman,  Texas. 

(Here  is  another  point  of  view  on  the  romance 
vs.  cold-blooded  question.  Mr.  McReynolds  is 
evidently  a moderate.  He  sees  the  desirability 
of  romance  but  does  not  want  it  to  dwninate 
the  story.  We  agree  with  him  there.  We  invite 
letters  from  our  other  readers,‘— 


Wants  **SuItor  from  Stars” 

Editor,  WONDER  STORIES: 

We  are  very  anxious  to  secure  a copy  of  the 
book,  “Suitor  from  the  Stars,”  by  Colin  Craig. 
We  understand  that  this  was  published  by 
Messrs.  Thomas  & Evans  of  Baltimore,  and 
that  this  concern  is  now  out  of  business  and  the 
book  is  out  of  print. 

Perhaps  one  of  your  readers  has  a copy  for 
disposal.  If  so  will  he  write  us? 

The  Argus  Book  Shop,  Inc,, 

333  So.  Dearborn  St., 

Chicago,  nU 


Stick  to  the  Finish 

Editor,  WONDER  STORIES: 

1 at  last  ask  the  right  to  make  my  address 
through  your  column.  I first  started  reading 
science-fiction  in  the  Chicago  Public  Library, 
Jules  Verne,  H.  G.  Wells,  etc.,  engrossed  my 
attention;  then  I was  attracted  to  the  magazines, 
of  which  I still  am  a subscriber,  formerly 
edited  by  the  Hon.  Hugo  Gernsback. 

With  his  movement  into  the  field  of  pub- 
lishing, I followed.  Relying  on  his  former 
achievements  as  a guarantee  of  satisfaction,  I 
entered  a charter  subscription  for  five  years. 

I have  continuously  followed  Wonder  Stories 
since  its  origination  and  to  this  day  express 
no  regret.  I admit  that  sometimes  one  or  two 
of  the  stories  do  not  hold  me  as  intensely  as 
the  others  (though  I read  all)  I accredit  that 
to  my  particular  nature  and  do  not  blame  the 
authors  or  editors. 

When  I read  the  unsavory  remarks  made  by 
such  as  Donald  Peart,  and  Booth  Cody,  (hoping 
that  HE  was  man  enough  to  have  signed  his 
right  nam),  I must  revert  to  slang  to  ask, 
“What  are  you  squawking  about?” 

You  two  fellows,  and  any  of  the  others  who 
always  like  to  kick  about  something  are  not 
being  forced  to  buy  or  even  read  this  magazine 
of  ours.  If  you  don’t  like  it  then  mind  your 
own  business  and  read  something  you  like.  It 
is  annoying  to  we  other  readers  to  sec  people 
like  you  making  D ’ fools  of  yourselves, 
writing  such  trash. 

To  me  the  magazine  sure  is  O.  K.  Starting 
from  the  front  cover  which  is  well  done,  com- 
pliments to  Paul,  I read  every  story  each 
month  and  wish  there  were  more.  The  stories 
are  good,  they  are  all  that  a person  who  likes 
science-fiction  can  ask  for.  A few  errors  or 
stories  that  we  do  not  like  can  readily  be  ex- 
cused, for  it  is  human  to  err,  and  also  every 
one  can  not  be  pleased  at  once.  So  'keep  up 
the  good  work  and  I’ll  stick  to  the  finish. 

Charles  L.  Moehlig, 

S.  California  Ave., 
Chicago,  Illinois. 

(We  appreciate  Mr.  Moehlig*s  kind  words. 
As  we  said  in  our  previous  issues,  when  reply- 
ing to  brick-bats— we  cannot  please  everyone. 
Wc  suppose  it  is  inevitable  after  awhile,  that 
people  will  drift  to  the  type  of  reading  that  is 
most  natural  to  them.  And  the  great  body  of 
readers  we  are  building  up  is  composed  of  those 
intelligent,  imaginative,  eager  minds  who  want 
the  best  in  science  fiction  in  palatable  form. 
This  we  will  continue  to  grive  them  “though  the 
heavens  fall." — Editor.) 


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Originators  of  forms  ^'Evidence  of  GoooepU«B*i 


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35VONDER  STORIES 


378 


^IN 

one  of  the 
1 A FIRST 
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Ko  other  Advertising  plan  like  It.  It  is  new  and  you  can  see  for  yourself  how  easy  it  la  to  be  one  of  these  ten 

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Be  careful.  Don't  lose  ^our  chance.  Study  the  thirteen  heads  shown  here.  The; 
all  appear  different,  but  two  are  exactly  alike — TWINS  I Lo(^  at  the  bat  crowns, 
hatbands,  necklaces.  The  under  side  of  the  hats  of  some  are  part  black  and  some 
all  white.  Each  girl  has  a came.  If  you  can  find  the  twins,  send  me  the  names 
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^ 4 4 


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This  charming  hotel  surrounded  by  green  lawns 
and  sun  porches  is  the  only  Hotel  in  Atlantie 
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The  bedrooms  are  built  for  comfort;  each  with 
its  own  private  bath,  large  closets,  modem  fur. 
nishings,  bridge  and  reading  lamps  and 
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Everything  is  cozy  and  homelike. 

CHAS.  H.  BERRY,  Owner 
H.  L.  FAIRBAIRN,  Manager 
CONTINENTAL  PLAN 


► S 


CANCER’S  CAUSE  STILL  UNKNOWN 

The  cause  of  cancer  is  still  unknown  to  mail, 
•ays  Dr,  Shields  Warren  of  the  Palmer  Me- 
morial Hospital,  Of  the  many  theories  that 
have  been  advanced,  no  one  seems  to  completely*'^ 
explain  the  origin  of  this  terrible  and  yet  myi- 
terious  disease.  Even  though  there  is  no  one 
accepted  cause  of  cancer,  says  Dr.  Warren, 
**there  are  certain  theories  that  are  useful  aa 
working  hypotheses.”  Among  the  causes  ad- 
vanced are  those  of  a parasite,  of  special  foods, 
oivilixation,  chronic  irritation  of  tissues,  here- 
dity. Dr.  Warren  does  not  consider  heredity 
of  much  importance,  despite  the  fact  that 
colonies  of  cancer-afflicted  families  have  been 
found.  It  is  in  analyzing  the  peculiar  circum- 
atances  in  each  case  and  searching  for  its  at- 
tendant causes  that  medicine  hopes  to  find 
the  actual  cause,  if  there  is  a single  cause. 


RADIO  NECESSARY  TO  AVIATION, 
SAYS  COMMISSIONER 

Harold  A.  LaFount,  Radio  Commissioner  of 
the  Fifth  Zone,  declared  recently  that  radio 
was  becoming  more  and  more  necessary  to  the 
aviation  industry  and  that  allocation  of  short 
waves  to  aviation  was  becoming  imperative. 
Government  action  on  requests  for  allocations 
is  now  pending. 

It  was  also  announced  that  two  companies, 
the  Wireless  Service  Corporation  of  New  York, 
and  the  Geophysical  Research  Corporation,  had 
applied  for  permits  for  portable  stations  in 
order  to  engage  in  a scientific  way  in  ths 
search  for  petroleum. 

ARTIFICIAL  DAYLIGHT  REPLACES 
ARTIST'S  NORTH  LIGHT 

Synthetic  daylight,  electrically  made,  is  urged 
by  A.  H.  Taylor  as  a substitute  for  the  tradi- 
tional north  skylight,  favored  by  artists  for 
color-matching.  Mr.  Taylor,  who  is  physicist 
of  the  National  Lamp  Works  at  ClevelandrhsS'- 
presented  to  the  Illuminating  Enginemng  So-  ' 
ciety  observations  which  show  that  daylight 
from  the  northern  sky,  is  far  from  being 
standard,  and  actually  varies  in  intensity  and 
its  color  proportions  shift  from  hour  to  hour 
and  from  day  to  day. 

White  light,  corresponding  to  noon  sun- 
light on  a clear  day  in  summer,  was  suggested 
by  Mr.  Taylor  as  the  proper  standard  for  ac- 
curate color-matching  and  color-discrimination. 
Since  this  is  available  for  only  a few  hours  a 
day,  even  in  proper  season  and  clear  weather, 
tungsten  incandescent  electric  lamps  and  c<^or 
filters  are  used  as  artificial  suns  to  produce 
artificial  daylight  whenever  needed. 

Artificial  north  skylights  can  be  produced  ar-’ 
ttficially  at  a cost  three  times  that  necessary 
for  the  production  of  white  light,  Mr.  Taylor 
explained.  But,  like  the  real  article,  it  is  bln- 
ish  in  color;  and  it  makes  pink,  lavender,  ma- 
genta, and  purple  appear  bluer  than  they 
should,  while  it  suppresses  yellow,  orange  and 
red. 


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Klt%S  FLIES  IK  TRAPS  BY  ELECTRIC 
CONTACT 

Experiments  to  catch  insects  with  light  traps 
are  being  undertaken  on  a large  scale  by  Dr. 
P.  J.  Parrott  of  the  New  York  State  Agricul- 
tural Experiment  Station.  Though  the  basic 
ideal  is  old,  no  definitely  quantitative  work  hat 
ever  been  done  to  see  just  how  helpful  this 
mode  of  attracting  insects  can  be  to  harassed 
fruit  growers. 

The  work,  which  was  started  in  1927  with 
the  cooperation  of  the  Empire  State  Gas  and 
Electric  Company,  showed  a catch  of  close 
to  50,000  during  the  first  season  for  the  traps 
set  in  orchards ; a goodly  proportion  of  the  haul 
being  winged  adult  forms  of  destructive  pests. 
More  codling  moths  were  found  in  the  traps 
set  in  cold-storage  plants,  where  fruit  had  httn 
stored,  than  out  in  the  orchards;  an  interest- 
ing point  that  shows  the  liabilities  as  well  aa 
advantages  of  modem  facilities  in  fruit  distribu- 
tion. 

The  most  striking  results  were  obtained  with 
traps  placed  in  dairies,  and  designed  to  kill 
house  and  stable  flies  by  contact  with  electrical 
current. 

(Conftnited  on  Po{;e  379) 


WONDER  STORIES 


379 


SCIENCE  NEWS 

iContinued  from  ffage  378) 


DEFECTS  IN  WELDS  DISCOVERED  BY 
STETHOSCOPE 

The  invention  by  Elmer  A.  Sperry  of  an 
apparatus  to  make  non*destructive  tests  on 
welds  was  disclosed  at  the  technical  session  of 
the  American  Welding  Society  at  Cleveland, 
Ohio.  The  device  is  described  as  an  ordinary 
physician’s  stethoscope  with  a gum-rubber  tip 
to  exclude  extraneous  sounds  and  give  contact 
on  the  irregular  surface  of  the  plate,  besides 
minimizing  the  damping  of  the  oscillations  at 
the  contact  of  the  stethoscope  and  the  metal. 
The  drum,  pipe  or  plate  tested  is  struck  with 
a hammer  in  the  vicinity  under  examination 
and  the  stethoscope  is  applied  near  the  strik* 
ing  zone.  As  each  welded  joint  has  a charac' 
tcristic  sound,  the  sound  heard  at  the  first 
tapping  of  the  joint  will  show  the  character  of 
the  material  at  the  point  struck.  When  this 
is  determined,  the  hammer  and  stethoscope 
moved  along  the  weld  to  discern  any  irregu- 
larities in  it.  This  principle  is  similar  to  that 
found  in  the  Sperry  rail-tester,  which  dis- 
covers defects  in  rails  by  passing  through  them 
an  electric  current  from  a generator  housed  on 
a car.  Any  irregularities  in  the  rails  cause 
additional  resistance  to  the  current,  the  result 
is  recorded  and  a paint-spraying  device  auto- 
matically marks  the  part  of  the  rail  which  is 
defective. 


BLIND  PEOPLE  HEAR  BETTER  BT 
LISTENING  HARDER 
Blind  persons  do  not  hear  better;  they  simply 
seem  to  do  so  because  they  listen  more  closely, 
reports  Mrs.  Winifred  Hathaway  of  the  Na- 
tional Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Blindness. 
The  popular  belief  that  blind  people  have  a com- 
pensating sharpness  of  the  other  senses,  such  as 
hearing  and  touch,  is  not  exactly  correct.  The 
special  senses  of  blind  people,  aside  from  sight; 
are  no  better  in  the  beginning  than  those  of  other 
people  and,  sometimes,  not  as  good.  But  expe- 
rience and  specialization  on  the  part  of  the  blind 
enable  them  to  make  their  other  senses  take  the 
place  of  sight;  so  that  their  senses  are  better 
uilized  than  those  of  normal  people.  The  same 
thing  applies  to  the  deaf,  who  appear  to  have 
much  keener  vision  than  is  normal. 


AUSTRALIA  HAS  GLANT  WORMS;  ONE 
ENOUGH  FOR  WEEK’S  PISHING 
Earthworms  longer  than  a man  and  an  inch  in 
diameter  are  reported  in  the  British  scientifio 
magazine  Nature,  as  the  quarry  of  a naturalist’s 
hunt  in  southeastern  Australia.  Average 
specimens  range  from  four  to  six  feet  in  length; 
and  one  nine  feet  long  was  observed  by  Charles 
Barrett,  member  of  the  expedition.  An  extreme 
length  of  eleven  feet  is  reported.  The  worms 
snake  loud  gurgling  noises  when  they  retire  into 
their  burrows  on  the  approach  of  a possible 
enemy.  Their  greenish-translucent  eggs  have 
tough,  horny  shells,  and  are  from  two  to  three 
inches  in  length. 


MEAT  MAKES  MORE  WORK  FOR  THE 
HEART 

A meal  which  is  high  in  protein  content,  one 
that  contains  a large  amount  of  meat,  makes 
more  work  for  the  heart.  Dr.  R.  M.  Moore,  Har- 
vard University  physiologist,  has  found.  In  ex- 
periments in  which  the  effect  of  muscular  exer- 
tion, emotional  excitement  and  temperature  were 
carefully  excluded,  Dr.  Moore  found  that  after  a 
meal  of  meat  the  heart  rate  of  the  experimental 
subject  increased  by  one-fourth  or  one-half  of 
what  it  had  been  while  fasting.  That  is,  if  the 
subject’s  heart  had  a fasting  rate  of  80  beats  per 
minute,  the  meat  meal  increased  it  to  100  or  120 
beats  per  minute.  This  effect  persisted  for  from 
15  to  20  hours,  during  which  time  a total  of  many 
thousand  extra  heart  beats  was  reached.  The 
extra  burden  of  work  thrown  on  the  heart  by  a 
protein  meal,  if  other  factors  than  the  rate  re- 
main unchanged,  is  about  equal  to  the  total 
amount  of  work  done  by  the  heart  during  three 
or  four  hours  under  fasting  conditions. 


'^MIKD  CURE>*  IS  NOW  BECOMING 
SCIENTIFIC 

**Mind  cure”  is  rising  from  the  realm  of  quack- 
ery and  becoming  a part  of  scientific  medicine, 
according  to  Dr.  William  A.  White,  superinten- 
dent of  St.  ^izabeth’s  Hospital,  Washington, 
D.  C.  In  properly  selected  cases,  well  trained 
pby^cians  are  able  to  cure  ^ disease  by  treating 


the  minds  of  the  patients,  Dr.  White  explained. 

‘’One  of  the  most  general  functions  of  the 
human  mind  is  to  smooth  out  inequalities  of  emo- 
tional balance.  The  healthiest  and  most  normal 
mind  is  the  mind  which  is  most  continuously  in 
a state  of  emotional  equilibrium.  A person  whose 
emotions  are  evenly  balanced  does  not  see  things 
out  of  focus.  He  is  not  overly  anxious  or  overly 
solicitous.  He  is  not  too  severe  nor  too  complacent. 
His  emotions  are  reasonably  adjusted  to  the  sit- 
uation as  it  actually  is.  He  does  not  see  enmity 
and  antagonism  where  it  does  not  exist,  nor  does 
he  fear  dangers  which  are  made  only  of  thin  air.” 


SLEEPY  CROCODILES  MAY  GET 
SLEEPING  SICKNESS 
African  crocodiles  harbor  a form  of  sleeping 
sickness  caught  from  the  tsetse  fly;  but  this  dis- 
ease is  not  the  human  type.  The  crocodile  con- 
tracts it  by  sleeping  with  his  mouth  open,  thus 
permitting  the  files  to  walk  around  and  bit  the 
soft  membranes  exposed.  The  disease  is  trans- 
ferred not  by  the  bite,  but  when  the  reptile 
wakes  up  irritated  and  snaps  at  the  flies,  thus 
crushing  them  and  swallowing  the  parasites  or 
germs  carrying  the  disease.  This  particular 
germ  requires  the  crocodile  and  the  fiy  to  com- 
plete its  life  cycle,  just  as  a malarial  parasite  re- 
quires man  and  the  mosquito. 


AMERICA’S  PREHISTORIC  RUINS 
TO  BE  DATED 

The  age  of  Pueblo  Bonito  and  other  famous 
Pueblo  ruins  in  the  southwest  is  at  last  to  be  re- 
vealed by  the  slow  but  sure  detective  methods  of 
science.  The  National  Geographic  Society  states 
that  tinrbers  from  ancient  trees,  collected  this 
summer,  are  adequate  to  complete  the  long- 
sought  tree-ring  calendar.  With  this  as  a yard- 
stick it  will  be  possible  to  date  any  prehistoric 
pueblo  which  has  any  wooden  beams  left  in  the 
ruins. 

The  principle  of  the  tree-ring  calendar  is  that 
the  width  of  the  ring,  added  to  a growing  tree 
each  year,  varies  in  dry,  moist,  or  average  years, 
so  that  any  given  ring  is  like  a date  mark.  By 
examining  cross-sections  of  old  trees  and  tracing 
back  the  overlapping  series  of  tree-ring  dates,  it 
has  been  hoped  that  the  ancient  beams  found  at 
Pueblo  Bonito  might  be  dated. 


WILL  UTILIZE  SALTS  IM  THE 
DEAD  SEA 

A large  organization  has  lately  been  formed  in 
New  York  and  London  for  the  purpose  of  ex- 
ploiting the  salts  in  the  Dead  Sea,  one  of  the 
world’s  richest  depositaries  of  soluble  salts.  Pal- 
estine Potash,  Ltd.,  concentrating  on  the  vast 
chemical  resources  of  the  sea,  which  is  1200  feet 
below  sea  level,  will  begin  work  immediately 
where  the  Jordan  River  meets  the  Dead  Sea,  and 
many  elaborate  drying  plants  have  been  built  and 
equipped. 

The  actual  work  will  be  carried  out  through 
the  use  of  huge  drying  plants,  equal  to  those  any- 
where else  in  the  world.  It  is  interesting  to  note 
that  this  famed  Biblical  region,  which  has  re- 
mained unexploited  for  so  long,  will  now  come 
into  its  own  as  a part  of  modern  industry. 


MEDICO  CHANGES  RACIAL 
CHARACTERISTICS 
Dr.  Yusabaro  Noguchi,  a well-known  Japanese 
scientist  states  he  has  evolved  a method  whereby 
he  is  able,  to  change  man  to  such  an  extent  as  to 
conceal  the  racial  characteristics.  He  can  even 
change  the  pigment  coloration.  The  method  he 
has  discovered  is  the  result  of  fifteen  years  of  ex- 
periment in  various  parts  of  the  world. 

The  Japanese  scienitst  works  by  means  of  elec- 
trical nutrition  and  glandular  control;  and  he 
can,  by  these  means,  not  only  change  the  color 
and  facial  characteristics  of  an  infant,  but  so 
change  its  body  as  to  maek  it  tall  or  short,  slight 
or  heavy. 


REJUVENATES  BY  NEW  PROCESS 
^ Demonstrating  a new  machine  in  glandular  re- 
vitalization, Dr.  Victor  D.  Lespinasse,  according 
to  the  New  York  Times,  has  rejuvenated  an  aged 
man  without  the  usual  recourse  to  glandular  ex- 
tracts or  glandular  transplantation.  The  new 
mrthod  utilizes  the  veins  of  the  individual  to  be 
rejuvenated,  and  the  process  takes  place  when 
certain  of  his  veins  are  joined. 

. {Continued  on  page  380) 


These  Brilliant 
Masterpieces  of 
Fiction  Stagger 
the  Imagination 
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ever  written... 

Here  are  the  most  startling,  the  most 
different  stories  ever  written  for  your  amuse- 
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Here  is  the  tale  of  the  Time  Machine  that 
goes  forward — into  the  future — or  backward 
— into  the  past — -as  its  inventor  wills  it.  He 
travels  into  the  future,  to  the  year  82ri,  to 
find  the  world  a flower  gardem  brooding  in 
dread  of  a fearsome  THING  that  comes 
upon  the  people  in  the  dark. 

Some  of  these  stories  have  been  unavail- 
able for  a long  time.  ^ The  publishers  have 
sought  them  from  original  sources  and  now 
resent  them  in  this  form  for  the  first  timet 
Due  to  the  great  demand  for  this  expensively 
compiled  first  edition  of  the  One  Volume 
H.  G.  Wells,  we  have  been  able  to  secure 
only  a limited  supply  from  the  publishers. 
We  are  compelled  to  set  a time  limit  of 
fifteen  days  for  this  offer  and  our  small 
supply  is  going  fast.  If  you  wish  to  be 
absolutely  sure  to  obtain  your  copy  and  gain 
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The  Time  Machine 
The  Empire  ef  the  Ants 
A Vision  of  Judgment 
The  tend  Ironclads 
The  Beautiful  Suit 
The  Door  in  tho  Wall 
The  Pearl  of  Love 
The  Country  ef  the 
Blind 

The  Stolen  Bacillus 
The  Flowering  of  the 
Strange  Orehid 
In  the  Avu  Observatory 
The  Triumph  ef  the 
Taxidermist 
A Deal  In  Ostriches 
Through  a Window 
The  Temptation  of 
Harringay 
The  Flying  Man 
The  Diamond  Maker 
Aepyornis  Island 
The  Remarkable  Case 
ef  Davidson's  Eyea 
The  Lent  of  the 
Dynamos 

The  Hammerpond  Park 
Burglary 
The  Moth 

Tho  Treasure  in  the 
Forest 

The  Plattner  Story 
The  Argonauts  of  the 
Air 

The  Story  ef  tho  Lato 
Mr.  Elvesham 
In  tho  Abyss 
The  Apple 
Under  the  Knife 
The  Sea  Raiders 
Pollock  and  tho  Porroh 
Man 

The  Red  Room 
Tho  Cone 


Tho  Purple  Pileus 
The  JiltMig  of  Jano 
In  the  Modern  Vein 
A Catastrophe 
The  Lost  tnneritaneo 
The  Sad  Story  of  a 
Dramatic  Critle 
A Slip  Under  the 
Mitroseope 
Tho  RoeoaciJIatlott 
My  First  Aeroplane 
Little  Mother  Up  tho 
Morderburg 

The  Story  of  the  Last 
_Trump 
The  Grisly  Folk 
The  Crystal  Egg 
The  Star 

Tho  Story  of  the  Stone 
Age 

A Story  ef  the  Days  te 
Come 

The  Man  Whe  Could 
Work  Miracles 
Fllmer 

The  Magic  Shop 
The  Valley  ef  the 
Spiders 

Tho  Truth  About 
Pyocraft 

Mr.  Skolmerssdalo  In 
Fairyland 
The  Inexperienced 
Ghost 

Jimmy  Goggles  the  God 
The  New  Accelerator 
Mr.  Ledbetter’s 
VaeatiM 

The  Stolen  Body 
Mr.  Brlsher*s  Treasure 
Miss  Wincheisea’s 
Heart 

A Dream  ef  Arma- 
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SCIENCE  NEWS 

{Continued  from  page  . > 


The  new  system  is  known  as  phtebophlobos^ 
tomy,  which  means,  literally,  vein  to  vein.  In  its 
operation,  the  femoral  (thigh)  vein  is  joined  to 
the  pampiniform  vein;  so  that  the  blood  from  the 
former  courses  into  the  latter,  revitalizing  the 
glands  without  the  addition  of  external  matter. 


VALE  WILL  BREED  APES  FOR  STUDY 

Yale  University  has  purchased  a tract  of  land 
in  Florida  of  two  hundred  acres  for  an  ape  farm. 
According  to  the  New  York  Times,  the  apes  will 
be  the  subjects  of  a great  number  of  laboratory 
tests;  special  emphasis  being  placed  upon  their 
habits,  social  relations,  life  histories,  and  psyhco- 
biological  development.  The  animals  will  be  stu- 
died especially  in  their  relation  to  man. 

The  ape  farm  will  be  under  the  supervision  of 
the  famous  psychologist  Professor  Robert  M. 
Yerkes,  who  has  in  the  past  contributed  much  to 
this  science  through  his  independent  investiga- 
tions. On  the  200-acre  farm,  the  scientist  will 
have  the  opportunity  to  direct  the  study  of  such 
interesting  types  as  the  gorilla,  the  chimpanzee, 
the  gibbon,  and  the  orang-utan. 


MYSTERY  IN  COLOR  OF  AURORA 
SOLVED 

There  was  long  a mystery  in  scientific  circles, 
as  to  the  origin  and  cause  of  a green  light  ray 
with  a wavelength  of  5206  ten-millionths  of  a 
millimeter  (Angstrom  units)  appearing  in  the 
aurora  borealis.  This  mystery  has  now  been 
solved  by  two  American  astronomers.  Dr.  V. 
M.  Slipber  and  L.  A.  Sommer,  of  the  Lowell 
Observatory,  in  Flagstaff,  Arizona. 

In  the  summer  of  1928  these  scientists  ob- 
served a brilliant  display  of  the  “Northern 
Lights,**  Passing  the  rays  through  a spectro- 
scope, they  obtained  a photographic  record  of 
the  spectrum.  They  noticed  a green  line  with  a 
wavelength  of  5577  angstrom  units  which  had 
been  found  to  be  caused  by  a transition  taking 
place  in  atoms  of  oxygen  high  in  the  earthVSts^ 
mosphere  and  excited  by  electrons  from  the  sun. 
The  new  mystery  was  the  presence  close  to  it  of 
another  green  line  which  had  not  been  noticed 
before. 

The  solution  of  the  mystery  of  the  new  color 
line  lies  in  the  fact  that  atoms  of  nitrogen  un- 
dergo a transition  from  one  state  to  another  dur- 
ing the  display.  Light  showing  this  line  can  be 
obtained  in  the  laboratory  by  electrical  dis- 
charges in  mixtures  of  ordinary  nitrogen  and 
inert  gases,  sucfi  as  neon  and  helium.  The  value 
of  the  new  discovery  lies  in  the  establishment 
of  the  fact  that  nitrogen  atoms  are  present  dar- 
ing displays  of  the  aurora  borealis. 


X-RAYS  TURNED  ON  MUMMIES 

Unopened  mummy  packs  containing  within 
their  sealed  wrappings  the  bodies  of  ancient  in- 
habitants of  Egypt,  Peru,  and  North  America 
have  been,  looked  into  by  the  penetrating  eye  of 
the  X-ray  in  an  intensive  investigation  conduct- 
ed by  Dr.  Roy  L.  Moodie,  noted  paleontologist. 
Twenty-five  Egyptian  mummies,  eighty  Peruvian 
mummies,  one  North  American  burial  and  a 
dozen  or  more  assorted  sacred  animals  and  birds 
have  been  examined,  and  more  than  300  large 
X-ray  pictures  have  been  made. 

The  bones  which  stand  forth  in  the  X-ray 
plates  show  particularly  the  diseases  and  injuries 
which  killed  and  distressed  the  world’s  earlier 
inhabitants.  A mummy  of  an  Egyptian  woman 
shows  hardening  of  the  arteries  and  a “poker 
spine.*’  Diseases  of  the  teeth  are  clearly  in 
evidence;  and  there  is  one  singular  case  of  a 
well-known  modern  ailment  — impacted  wisdom 
teeth. 


SMALL  VARIATION  FOUND  IH 
HUMAN  ABILITIES 
The  difference  between- the  brightest  person  of 
your  acquaintance  and  the  dullest  is  surprising- 
ly small,  when  their  abilities  are  reduced  to  a 
statistical  table,  says  Dr.  David  Wechslcr,  emi- 
nent psychologist.  We  sometimes  fed  awed  at 
the  vast  range  of  man’s  capacities,  when  we 
think  of  the  genius  of  an  Einstein  or  a Shakes- 
peare, and  then  reflect  on  the  feeble  attainments 
of  an  idiot.  But,  leaving  out  such  extremes,  it  is 
found  that  the  distances  which  separate  the  most 
able  individual  from  the  least  able  may.be  ex- 
pressed by  the  ratio  of  two  to  one. 

That  is,  the  normal  person  with  the  weakest 
memory  can  remember  five  digits  after  they  arc 
iContimt^  on  page  381) 


WONDER  STORIES 


381 


We  Win  Reach 


SCIENCE  NEWS 

(.Continued  from  page  380) 


the  Moon  in 


1950 


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space-ship.  As  in  Lindbergh’s  transat- 
lantic flight,  the  world  will  cheer  this  in- 
trepid adventure.^  As  in  aviation  history, 
regular  communication  will  be  rapidly 
established.  Wall  Street  concerns  will 
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IN  THE  SUMMER  ISSUE 

ELECTROPOLIS 

By  .Otfrid  von  Hanstein 

THE  WAR  OF  THE  PLANETS 

By  R.  H.  Romans 

THE  TOWER  OF  EVIL 

By  Schachner  and  Zagat 

THE  ETERNAL  MAN  REVIVES 

By  D.  D.  Sharp 

THE  MONSTERS  OF  NEPTUNE 

By  Henrik  Dahl  Juvc 

THE  MOON  RAYS 

By  Dn  David  H-  Keller 


FOR  INTELLIGENT  PEOPLE 

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repeated  to  him;  the  best  memory  carries  eleven 
digits.  The  person  who  reacts  fastest  to  a signal 
acts  a little  more  than  twice  as  quickly  as  the 
slowest.  The  intelligence  rating  of  the  near*genius 
is  about  twice  that  of  the  dullard. 


BLUE  RATS  LATEST  EVOLUTIONARY 
PRODUCT  FOUND 

If  you  seeh  a pink  elephant,  your  friends  are 
entitled  to  look  at  you  pityingly — or  enviously, 
if  they  feel  that  way  about  it.  But  if  you  see  a 
blue  rat,  you  are  only  looking  at  the  latest  prod- 
uct of  evolution.  Dr.  Elmer  Roberts  of  the 
University  of  Illinois  reports  the  appearance  of 
a "blue**  mutant  strain  of  rats  in  a stock  kept  at 
the  University  laboratories  for  experiment  in 
breeding.  Inasmuch  as  this  color  had  never  been 
observed  before,  in.  2500  members  of  several  gen- 
erations of  these  rats,  it  is  believed  that  the  blue 
color  is  a true  mutation,  or  sudden  origin  of  a 
new  evolutionary  character. 


EINSTEIN  VIEWED  AS  A 
PERSONALITY 

“I  am,*'  says  Einstein,  "solely  a physicist.” 
Thus,  as  reported  by  George  Sylvester  Vicreck 
in  the  Saturday  Evening  Posty  he  disavows  all 
pretensions  of  being  a philosopher.  A born  teach- 
er, he  explains  all  his  theories  and  equations  in 
terms  of  physics,  never  referring  to  what  is  gen- 
erally regarded  as  the  philosophical  viewpoint* 

It  is  well  known  that  the  famous  German  scien- 
tist is  as  home-loving  as  any  other  German. 
Away  from  the  laboratory  he  is  the  ideal  "pater- 
familias**. His  wif^— who  is  also  his  cousin- 
shares  his  life  wonderfully,  and  is  "everything 
that  it  is  possible  for  her  to  be  to  him,'*  The 
professor  is  an  excellent  violinist,  a lover  of  mu- 
sic, and — ^strange  as  it  may  seem  for  a scientist 
—he  is  deeply  interested  in  religious  questions. 
Bom  a Jew,  he  admires  most  the  Founder  of 
Christianity.  The  world,  which  has  little  op- 
portunity of  seeing  the  savant  when  he  is  not  on 
exhibition,  has  been  astonished  again  and  again 
at  the  multiplicity  of  his  private  interests.  What 
it  does  not  know  is  that  Einstein  is  a man  of  in- 
finite kindness,  infinite  gentleness,  and  infinite 
resource. 


FLOWERS  AND  FRUITS  POSSIBLE 
UNDER  ARTIFICIAL  LIGHT 
Flowers,  fruits  and  vegetables  raised  by  arti- 
ficial light  only  in  underground  hothouses  are 
quite  within  the  realm  of  possibility,  so  long  as 
there  is  a plentiful  supply  of  cheap  electricity, 
according  to  Samuel  G.  Hibben,  lighting  special- 
ist of  the  Westinghouse  Lamp  Company. 

Natural  sunlight  is  not  necessary  for  the  nor- 
mal development  of  plant  life.  Artificial  light 
has  been  used  with  success  in  the  experimental 
growing  of  plants  in  laboratories;  and  it  is  being 
used  now  as  a regular  commercial  proposition  to 
hasten  the  maturing  of  vegetables.^growD  under 
glass  and  the  blossoming  of  cut  Bowers. 


VIBRATION  IN  ENGINES  STOPPED 
BY  DEVICE 

The  elimination  of  vibration  in  engines  is 
claimed  to  have  been  accomplished  by  George 
J.  Dashefsky  of  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  in  collabor- 
ration  with  officers  of  the  Brooklyn  Navy 
Yard.  Full  details  of  the  invention  were  not 
forthcoming  as  Dashefsky  said  the  invention 
would  be  held  a secret  for  use  in  the  Navy, 
princis^lly  on  submarines.  The  invention 
called  the  asynchroniaer  eliminates  the  syn- 
chronism between  the  natural  period  of  the 
shafting  and  the  impulse  of  the  engine.  The 
evils  of  vibration  were  eliminated  right  at  the 
beginning,  according  to  the  inventor.  It  could 
be  used  in  the  Diesel  engines  of  submarines 
and  on  reciprocating  engines. 


SENSE  OF  TOUCH  FOUND  AID  TO 
LIP  READING 

People  hard  of  hearing  who  carefully  watch 
the  lips  of  those  who  engage  them  in  conversa- 
tion, may  be  aided  by  a new  sense,  says  Dr. 
Robert  H.  Gault,  professor  of  psychology  at 
Northwestern  University. 

He  found  that  when  the  hard  of  hearing  watch 
the  Ups  of  a speaker,  and  at  the  same  time  hold 
in  their  hands  apparatus  which  conveys  the 
sounds  to  their  fingers  in  the  form  of  vibrations, 
they  are  better  able  to  understand  what  is  said 
than  when  they  depend  on  lip  reading  alone.  The 
equipment  which  enables  the  deaf  to  receive 
forms  of  speech  through  their  fingers  or  the  palm 


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382 


WONDER  STORIES 


The  Greatest  Sin  of  all  is  total  IGNORANCE  of 
the  most  important  subject  in  the  life  of  every 
man  and  woman — SEX. 


Away  With  False  Modesty! 

Let  us  face  the  facts  of  sex  fearlessly  and  frankly, 
sincerely  and  scientifically.  Let  us  tear  the  veil 
of  shame  and  mystery  from  sex  and  build  the 
future  of  the  race  on  a new  knowledge  of  all  the 
facts  of  sex  as  they  are  laid  bare  in  plain,  daring 
but  wholesome  words,  and  frank  pictures  in  the 
huge  new  library  of  Sex  Knowledge. 

"MODERN  EUGENICS” 


It'SECRETS 


Everything  a 
Married  Woman 
Should  Know— 

How  to  hold  a husband 
How  to  have  perfect 
children 

How  to  preserve  youth 
Warding  off  other  wom- 
en 

Keeping  yourself  attrac- 
tive 

Why  husbands  tire  of 
wives 

Dreadful  diseases  due 
to  ignorance 
Diseases  of  women 
Babies  and  birth  control 
Twilight  Bleep^asy 
childbirth 

How  babies  are  con- 
ceived 

Diseases  of  children 
Family  health  guide 
Change  of  life — ^hygiene 
Why  children  die  young 
Inherited  traits  and 
diseases 

What  will  you  tell  your 
growing  girl? 

The  mystery  of  twins 
Hundreds  of  valuable 
remedies 

Secrets 
for  Men — 

Mistakes  of  early  mar- 
riages 

Secrets  of  fascination 
Joys  of  perfect  mating 
How  to  make  women 
love  you 

Bringing  up  healthy 
children 

Fevers  and  contagious 
diseases 


Accidents  and  emergen- 
cies 

Hygiene  in  the  home 
Limitation  of  offspring 
The  sexual  embrace 
Warning  to  young  men 
Secrets  of  greater  de- 
light 

Dangerous  diseases 
Secrets  of  sex  attraction 
Hygienic  precautions 
Anatomy  and  physiology 
The  reproductive  organs 
Wha^  every  woman 
wants 

Education  of  the  family 
Sex  health  and  preven- 
tion 

Girls — 
Don’t  Marry 
before  you  know 
all  this — 

The  dangers  of  petting 
How  to  be  a vamp 
How  to  manage  the 
honeymoon 

What  liberties  to  al- 
low a lover 
Secrets  of  the  wedding 
night 

Beauty  diets  and  baths 
Do  you  know — 

How  to  attract  desirable 
men 

How  to  manage  men 
How  to  know  if  he 
loves  you 

How  to  acQuire  bodily 
grace  and  beauty 
Bow  to  beautify  face« 
hands,  hair,  teeth  and 
feet 

How  to  acquire  charm 
How  to  dress  attrac- 
tively 

Intimate  personal 
hygiene 

How  to  pick  a husband 


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SCIENCE  NEWS 

(Continued  from  page  381) 


of  the  hand  is  known  as  a teletactor,  and  consists 
of  a microphone,  an  amplifier,  batteries  and  a re- 
ceiver. This  equipment  has  been  reduced  in 
size  to  a conveniently  portable  instrument,  so 
that  it  is  serviceable  for  practical  purposes. 


RADIO  WAVES  OPEN  DOORS 
Radio  waves  have  been  successfully  used  in 
Switzerland  to  open  garage  doors,  thereby  saving 
the  motorist  the  necessity  of  leaving  hU  machine 
in  order  to  open  the  doors  himself.  The  new 
device  is  the  invention  of  the  chief  engineer  of 
the  electrical  system  of  Ncufchatel,  Switzerland. 
The  driver  of  the  car  approaching  its  garage 
presses  a button  on  the  apparatus  in  his  ma- 
chine. Radio  waves  are  emitted  which  reach  an 
aerial  on  the  roof  of  the  garage,  and  these  waves 
start  a motor  which  automatically  throws  open 
the  doors. 


DICTIONARY  OF  TECHNICAL 
TERMS,  by  F.  S.  Crispin,  29A  pages, 
illustrated,  size  4 by  7,  stiff  cloth 
covers.  Published  by  Bruce  Publishing 
Company,  New  York.  Price,  $1.25. 

This  little  volume  in  the  words  of  the  author 
contains,  “definitions  of  commonly  used  expres- 
sions in  architecture,  woodworking  and  building 
trades,  electrical  and  metal-working  trades,  chem- 
istry, etc.”  As  such  it  should  be  quite  useful 
as  an  aid  to  the  study  of  text  books  on  the 
mechanics  of  these  trades,  to  readers  of  blue 
prints,  and  the  amateur  who  dips  into  these 
trades  as  a hobby.  The  value  of  the  book  is 
enhanced  by  a goodly  number  of  little  illus- 
trations of  the  objects  referred  to. 


HEAVEN  AND  EARTH,  by  Oswald 
Thomas.  231  pages,  stiff  cloth  covers, 
size  8^  X 6.  Published  by  W.  W. 
Norton  & Co.,  New  York.  Price,  $2.75. 

This  book  by  the  former  director  of  the 
Urania  Observatory  in  Vienna  is  divided  logic- 
ally into  ten  chapters.  They  are:  The  Firma- 
ment and  the  Fiery  Script;  The  Sun  and  the 
Earth’s  Motion  in  Space;  An  Excursion  to  the 
Moon;  The  Realm  of  the  Planets;  Are  Other 
Planets  Inhabited;  Comets  and  Meteorites;  Won- 
ders of  the  Milky  Way;  Evolution  of  the  Stars 
and  Structure  of  the  Universe;  Birth  of  Our 
World;  Where  Does  the  Universe  End? 

The  volume  is  thoroughly  modern  containing 
the  story  of  the  discovery  of  Pluto,  the  latest 
addition  to  the  family  of  solar  planets;  the 
Einsteinian  theory  of  the  size  and  shape  of  the 
Cosmos  and  the  latest  theories  on  the  possi- 
bilities of  sentient  life  on  other  planets. 

The  author  takes  a humorous,  skeptical  view 
of  the  evidence  that  has  been  supposedly  piled 
up  in  favor  of  life  existing  on  Mars.  The  so 
called  “canals”  (derived  he  says  from  an  ex- 
pression “canali”  used  by  Schiaparelli,  which 
really  meant  “channels”)  are  only  optical  illu- 
sions which  can  be  produced  in  a simple  manner 
by  anyone. 

The  book  is  clearly  and  simply  written,  and 
despite  the  lack  of  illustrations,  is  quite  inter- 
esting throughout.  The  treatment  Is  designed 
principally  for  the  needs  of  the  lay  reader. 

NUMBER  — THE  LANGUAGE  OF 
SCIENCE,  by  Tobias  Dantzig,  Ph.D. 
260  pages,  stiff  cloth  cover,  size  6 by  9, 
Illustrated.  Published  by  Macmillan 
& Company,  New  York.  Price,  $3.50. 

The  basis  of  all  science,  as  our  author  points 
out,  is  mathematics,  or  he  calls  it  “Numbers.” 
For  science  is  a quantitative  set  of  measure- 
ments of  the  elements,  forces,  events,  actions, 
etc.,  of  our  material  universe.  Without  a sys- 
tem of  numbers,  therefore,  it  is  evident  that 
our  science  could  never  have  developed  to  any- 
thing like  its  present  stage. 

How  then  did  primitive  man  acquire  that 
grasp  of  numerology  that  enabled  him  to  measure 
the  relative  values  of  the  elements  of  the  life 
about  him,  and  theregy  to  draw  conclusions  about 
their  nature?  And  how  did  that  first  fumbling 
I for  an  exact  concept  of  his  physical  universe 


“HUMAN  LABOR  WILL  CEASE,” 
SAYS  MARCONI 

Science  is  to  work  out  the  redemption  of  man 
from  the  primal  curse  in  the  Book  of  Genesis, 
according  to  Guglielmo  Marconi,  speaking  in  an 
interview  with  George  Sylvester  Viercck  in  the 
New  York  American,  Labor,  in  the  opinion  of 
the  world-famous  inventor  of  the  “wireless** 
will  simply  cease  to  exist. 

By  means  of  splitting  the  atom,  man  will  be-- 
come  possessed  of  a power  unknown  today.  As 
his  power  increases,  and  the  need  for  his  labor 
disappears,  man  will  in  all  probability  change  to 
fit  himself  to  the  new  environment.  His  limbs 
will  atrophy  as  his  brain  grows;  he  will  work 
only  to  keep  his  body  in  trim.  Developing  his 
brain  at  the  expense  of  his  body,  he  will  become  a 
product  of  the  conditions  his  own  genius  has  cre- 
ated. 


lead  ultimately  to  the  higher  mathematics  of 
today  ? 

These  question.  Professor  Dantzig  answers; 
and  he  makes  us  realize  that  behind  the  prosaic 
world  of  numerology  there  exists  a romance 
that  no  once  can  deny.  The  book  is  non-mathe* 
matical — being  in  „the  words  of  the  author,  “a 
critical  survey  written  for  the  cultured  non- 
mathematician.*' 


SHORT  TALKS  ON  SCIENCE,  by 
Edwin  E.  Slosson.  280  pages,  illus- 
trated, stiff  cloth  covers,  size  5x8. 
Published  by  The  Century  Company, 
New  York.  Price,  $2.00. 

Dr.  Slosson  was  one  of  the  most  potent 
forces  in  America  acting  toward  the  populariza- 
tion of  science.  His  Creative  Chemistry  still, 
remains  almost  a classic  in  that  fieldr  His 
death  a short  time  ago  removed  from  the  sphere 
of  our  daily  life  a man  trying  energetically  to 
keep  people  oriented  on  whither  the  world  was 
going  scientifically. 

This  book,  his  last,  is  distinguished  principally 
by  the  enormous  field  of  interest  that  it  covers. 
There  are  all  told  97  short  lectures  of  a pag^ 
or  two  in  the  three  hundred  odd  pages  of  the 
book,  and  they  cover  almost  every  conceivable 
field  of  science.  No  scientific  event  of  our 
modern  life  has  escaped  his  attention  and  to 
each  he  devotes  a few  pages  with  his  own  com- 
ments on  their  significance.  And  as  with  all  of 
his  books,  the  style  is  simple,  forceful  and 
direct.  The  book  is  excellent  for  those  who 
want  to  keep  up  in  a general  way  with  whit 
scientists  are  doing  and  thinking. 


TERRANIA  — OR  THE  FEMINIZA- 
TION OF  THE  WORLD,  by  Colum- 
bus Bradford,  A.M.  208  pages,  stiff 
cloth  covers,  size  8 by  5j^.  Published 
by  Christopher  Publishing  Company, 
Boston,  Mass.  Price,  $2.00. 

This  book  is  what  might  be  called,  “an 
utopian  romance”  for  it  deals  with  the  social, 
historical  and  personal  adventures  that  accom- 
panied the  feminization  of  the  world  about  the 
year  1950.  The  book  is  a plea  against  war, 
and  as  such  bears  striking  resemblance  to  the 
play  “LysistVata”  by  Aristophanes,  playing  in 
New  York  at  the  time  of  this  writing.  A young 
feminist  refuses  to  marry  her  beloved  in  order 
to  devote  her  life  to  the  world  strike  against 
matrimony  as  a means  of  ending  war.  But  the 
man,  an  army  officer,  persuades  her  to  the  mar^ 
riage  agreeing  to  assist  her  with  all  his  resources. 
The  world  strike  is  successful,  a federation  of 
the  world  is  formed,  the  super  state  is  called 
“Terra'nia”  and  our  heroine  becomes  its  first 
president. 

The  book  as  a piece  of  fiction  suffers  from 
an  inclusion  of  too  much  historical  material. 
The  result  then  becomes  hardly  a story  but  a 
thinly  disguised  tract.  However  although  wo 
cannot  state  unqualifiedly  our  support  of  the 
feminization  of  the  world,  we  feel  that  the  means 
used  by  the  women  of  this  book  like  the  women 
of  “Lysistrata,”  to  accomplish  their  ends,  were 
quite  satisfactory,  and  we  art  in  complete  sym- 
pathy with  them. 


BOOK  REVIEWS 


WONDER  STORIES 


383 


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Microacope 


Microacope 


Here  is  a reaJ  'high  folding  pocket 

.This  is  a fine  imported  power  imported  micro*  magnifying  glass,  also 

^mbination  microscope,  scope  for  instruction  called  linen  tester,  is 

Really  two  instruments  and  laboratory  work,  made  entlr^Iy  of  gold 

In  one.  One  end  used  Has  regitlation  rotating  lacquer  hras*.  Has 

lor  high  magnification,  light  mirror.  Has  ed"  ptwerful  lens  that  mag* 


10c  Compaaa  lOe 

Fine  imported 
magnetic  compass. 
ACCURATE 
Pocket  sire.  In* 
valuable  for  hik 
ers,  automobilists. 

Often  saves  lives. 

Use  it  to  tell  live 
electric  wires  ; 
make  your  own 


powerful  tens  that  mag* 
nifies  everything  10 


such  as  seeing  bacteria  justable  lens  for  correct  nifies  everything  10 

in  milk  or  water.  Other  focusing.  With  It  come  times.  Has  fixed  focus, 

end  to  see  parts  of  in*  3 .specimen  slides.  En*  Just  open  it  and  it  is 

sects,  flower  specimens,  tireiy  brass.  Packed  in.  ready.  When  folded 

etc.  Finished  in  gold  neat  leatherette  box.  this  magnifier  occupies 


brass.  Magnifies  about  Magnifies  about  50  dia*  a 


8S1S  Ploro*  {*ttc 
Scope.  Prepaid 


Wonderacope* 


meters. 

No.  ^517  Microscope. 
Pr.palil  ....  $h90 


a Space  about  as  large 
as  a quarter  and  twice 
as  thick. 

No.  8516  Mag. 
nlfier  Prepaid 


Handsomely  carved 
platinum  finish.  Looks 
iust  like  any  other  rin^. 
But,  oh  hoy,  wait  till 
you  look  through  the 
“VIEW."  Strong  m^g* 
nifying  glass  shows 
Ffencn  actress  when 
viewed  against  light. 
Ring  has  large  imitation 
diamond.  When  order- 
ing enclose  a strip  of 
paper  giving  size  of 
your  finger. 

No.  8511  Sur.  OC- 
prise  ring.  Prepd 


See  what's  going  oft  be* 
hind  your  back  with  this 
Seebackoscope.  Used 
like  a magnifying  glass. 
No  one  knows  you're 
watching  them.  Gives 
you  “eyea  In  your 
back."  This  article  is 
made  in  molded  bakelite 
and  Its  size  is  2"xV/»'*. 

No.  8506  Peri*  Ot£m 
scope.  Prepaid 


NSWt.  Greatest  pocket  microscope 
invented.  Looks  like  a fountain  pen 
. and  ACTUALLY  MAGNIFIES  25 
TIMES.  Hair  looks  as  big  as  a 
rope.  See  the  pores  in  your  skitv. 

Mas  slide  adjustable  lenst  For  home, 
laboratory  or  shoo.  Full  black 
enamel  with.  clip.  Its  size  measures 

J kH".  Must  seen  to  be  appre*  ^ake  yOur  own  luminous 

...  . • articles.  Paint  watch  and  article!  Con* 

No.  $50l>  Vvondefscopo  A*~  clock  hands,  electric  light 

Prepaid  •'••rw  push  buttons,  key*' 

No.  8652  Wonderscopa  B— Same  as  holes,  .house  numbers,  etc. 

•bova  but  adjustable  to  the  amount  1.000  uses.  Articles  treat* 
ftf  Ught  aveiUble.  *1  OC  ^ brilliantly  in 

PraDaiit  . dark.  The  darker  the 

room,  the  more  brilllancv. 

No.  8508  Luminous 
Paint.  Pranald  *Ov 


articles.  Paint  watch  and 


A real  high-powered 
imported  poclcet  micro- 
scope for  instruction 
and  laboratory  work. 
Has  adjustable-  and  au- 
tomatic lens  tor  correct 
focussing.  Comes  with 
one  prepared  subject 
and  three  specimen 
glass  slides.  Entirely 
made  of  lacquered 
brass.  Packed  in  s 
neat  leatherette  box. 
Magnifies  40  diameters. 


fimp  ia  the  Bottle 

A real  Cartesian  diver— Can 
you  explain  how  it  works?  A 
little  glass  imo  placed  in  a 
bottle  of  plain  water  and  aeafed 
with  special  rubber  cap,  dances 
up  and  down  in  the  liquid  at 
Bluff  your  friends  willi  I your  will.  Will  perform  unique  an* 
this  gun.  Made  of  com-  | tics.  An  interesting;  amazing  and  sei* 
position  metal  hand*  I entific  novelty.  Bottle  4 inches  high. 


-...t  V»_  . ; »««*■  *««««  wi  will'  jici,  AO  imeresiing,  amaz 

position  metal  hand*  entific  novelty.  Bottle  4 i 
your  handkerchief  and  gomdy  nickeled.  Ex-  No.  8573.  Imp  in  Bottle. 

Mow  into  instrument  ...i.. — ^ 


Microscope* 

B A REAL  laboratory  mi* 

T xroscope  that  stands  6" 

A high,  eome|  complete  with 

■ forceps,  2‘tprepared  speci- 

A men  slide#  and  2 blank 

3B  glass  slides,  all  packed  in  a 

n cherry  wood  box  with  brass 

ak  -hinges  and  fittings.  Made 

4 iSw  entirely  of  laequered  brass. 

V |52  with  powerful  lenses.  En- 

I tireiy  deniountable  to  facili- 

.tale  cleaning.  Has  ar- 
cade (open  both  sides)  frame  and 

rotary  reflecting  mirror.  Made  in 

three  'models  for  use  in  home,  office, 
or  laboratory. 

No.  664S.  Mleroseops. 

MagnlflM  SO  diameters. 

Prepaid  

No.  8646.  Microscope. 


Paint.  Prepaid 


Bi'k  Magic  imt 


Olovy  imo  inslrument 

while  ,ou  pretend  to  ,, 

blow  jrour  nose,  tyerjr-  pi;;-, 

one  51W  .nil  looks  « g,,.,.  also  «s 

you.  There  never  was  j„|,  weight.  Site 

a terrible  notse  like  It.  qJ  .j,;,  ia  6J4'  tong 

Keep  It  tip  as  long  as  J-  wide. 


Opera  ClaM  Charm* 


you  like. 

No.  6510  Nose* 
blowor.  Prepaid. 


No.  8505  Bluff* 
gun.  Prepaid. 


Ptiaid  A chest  of  magical  appara* 

No.  *641  Microscope.  <“»  J,'"'' '“I,  ?"• 

MamtlCaA  91%  rtlamakpp*.  *1**  fo^mmg  T W EL  VE  AM  A2* 
Pr^d  *^***‘^  $5a50  INC  MAGICAL  FEATS. 


Prepaid  

No.  8647.  Microscope. 
Magnlflei  00  diameters. 
Pre^id  .1 a* 


Teleaeope* 


An  entire  evening's  enter* 
tainment  can  be  given  with 
them.  Includes  the  Magic 
Vanisher,  C^arette  Van* 
isher,  Hoo  Coinsi,  Mjister 
Memory,  Beada  on  String. 
Obedient  Ball.  Vanishing 
Watch,  and  many  others. 
Biggest  value  ever  offered, 

I worth  double  the  price  we 
ask. 

No.  8713.  Big 
Magic  Set.  Prpd. 

wcawt**  uiMUc.  iiv.  la  wvcicu 

with  t^ck  Morocco  leather,  brings 
object  nearer  ten-  times.  This  num- 
.ber  has  also  brass  dust  cap  and  auto- 
matio  eyeslide  piece.  Comet  ia  imi- 
tatioa  leather  carrying  case. 

No*  8504.  Talaseope.  Oh*  Oft/» 
df»w.  Prepaid  .... 

No,  6648.  Telescope.  Two  |>A 
•draw.  OM*.  Preoald ^A.UU 


Here's  a real  pistol,  yet  small  enough  to  be  used 
aa-a  watch  charm.  Illustration  is  full  size. 
Imported,  best  European  workmanship.  Excel* 
lent  reproduction  of  standard  pistol.  Cut  shows 
pistol  broken  open  to  load  blank  cartridge*. 
When  trigger  is  pulled*  cartridge  goes  off  with 
a loud  BANG,  that  can  be  heard  for  a block, 
Pistol  entirely  made  of  steel,  nickel  plated. 
Handle  is  beautifully  engraved'.  Octagonal  bar* 
rel.  Comes  in  box.  with  cleaning  rod  and  2S 
bUnk  cartridges  AT  NO  EXTRA  CHARGE. 
(As  explosives  are  prohibited  to  go  by  mail,  pis- 
tol is  sent  express  collect). 

No.  860*  Platol $1.20 

No.  8509A  Set  of  25  Cartrldgas,  by  ax. 
press  collect  Aww 


Charm.  Prepaid  .......... 

Nok  8586.  Rolled  Ootd  Or< 
Qlaea  Charm.  Pr^id  ... 


Cigftrftt  G 

NEW.  Actually  j ^ ^ 

shoots  egiarettes. 

New  improved  double  1 
action  model.  Prese 
the  trigger  lightly  — out 
shoots  a cigarette«-press  it 
again,  back  flies  the  lid  re* 


vcaling-  it  a cigarette  case.  Looks  like 
a real  automatic.  Made  entirely  of 
metal,  with  oxidized  st0wl;s.  barrel  and 


fittings.  The  same  sixe  at  the  real 
article,  and  weighs  but  12  ounces. 

No.  8618.  Automatie  Cigar*  .*90 
retta  Qua.  Preftsid  #*•#«» 


•draw,  PJi*.  Prepaid sp^.w 

N(K  6649.  TeUflcopc.  Three  CA 
draw.  I2H".  Prepaid 
NOb  8650.  Special  Tele* 

. ftcope*  4 sections.  ISVi"  ^ QC 
1^.  Prepaid  


Blftcketono'a  Magic 

A big  98-pagc  book,  every  trick  illustrated. 
Instructions  for  over  SO  MAGICAL  TRICKS 
—25  MATCH  TRICKS— 7 OPTICAL  IL- 
LUSIONS and  MANY  OTHER  interesting 
diversions.  No  skill  needed— no  practice- 
no  apeeial  apparatus.  Written  by  the  fa- 
mous magician.  Harry  Blackstone.  Neatly 
bound  with  highly  lithographed  cover. 
Most  astonishing  value  ever  offered. 

No.  8661.  Book  of  Magic. 

Prepaid  


NEWn  Spinthariscope 


Positively  the  most  astounding  scientific 
instrument  ever  developed.  This  instru- 
ment  formerly  sold  from  $1.00  to  $50.00 
upwards.  Now  it  is  possible  to  get  it 
^ for  a smalt  sum.  Witness  actuM  de- 
atruction  of  thousands  of  Worlds  by 
simply  looking  through  the  lens  of  the 
instrument.  Actual  radium  is  disinte** 
grated  before  your  ^es.  You  see  the 
gt^le  bombardment  plainly.  Instrument  is  guaranteed  to  contain  a 
iniRUte  Quantity  of  radium.  There  is  no  more  enthralling  sight  - in 
le  whole  world.  Nothing  to  wear  out.  Lasts  forever. 

0.  8524— Spinthariscope  complete  with  instructions.  Ihepaid 


Combination  Cigar.  Cigarette,  Pipe  Holder 


No.  6528.  Xi 
bottle,  prepaid 
(3  for  40e)  .. 


Inriatblo  Ink 

A fluid  in  which  you 
can  ivriie  love  let- 
C e r s , confidential 
messages,  etc.,  with- 
out fear  of  detection. 
Remains  entirely  in- 
visible until  paper  is 
heated.  Used  ex- 
tensively by  secret 
service  operatives, 
detectives,  etc. 

Xnvisibla  ink.  — Per 

“ . 15c 


TELEGRAPH  CODES! 

;4=^ 

Totograi^  25e 


For  the  astonishing 
small  sum . of  2$c 
you  can  team  tele^ 
raphy.  Any  wide 
awake  boy  or  girl 
can-  team  the  tele- 
graph codex  with 
this  little  outfit 


within  from  30  to 
60  days.  Gi<^es  loud 

signals  perfectly—*  1 m 

nothing  to  wear  out. ) A full  deck  of  S3  thteft  finish  carw  M 
No  batcariea.  The  | y<Mi  can  use  for  play  or  magic.  Deck j 
instrument  consists  I cut  tapered,  one  end  narrower  th^  v 


of  ha^  fiber  base,  other.  Draw  away  caM  pickad  /torn 
mcchanleal  sounder  deck— and  hundred  of  other  amathig  It 
and  tclenraoh  key  Full  instructions  for  performing  10 


X.IUy  Tab« 

With  this  little 
instrument  you 
apparently  ace 
through  your 
hand,  cloth, 
wood,  stone 
and  other  ob- 
jects. See  the 
lead  in  a pen-  , .... 

cii,  the  stem  hole  in  a pipe,  the  boiM 
in  your  fingers.  An.  amazing'  optical  iUiW 
sion  that-  no  one  has  ever  aatiafactonlg 
explained.  Startle  the  girls  by  thowfag 
them  what  this,  tube  can  do  and  tel  theoa 
imagine  the  rest.  _ ..  lOe 

No.  8596.  X-Ray  Tube.  Prepaid 


MagM  SoU 

Here  is  the  best 
selection  of  three  | 
rdagic  sets  at  bar-  ; 
gain  prices.  The 
contents  of  any  of  1 
tiicse  three  sets  ' 
are  valued  at  60c. 

A pretty  and  unique  watch  charm.  I Requires  no  skill 
H xl*.  Exact  duplicate  of  real  Opera  | to  perform,  are  en- 
Glasses.  Powerful  lenses  that  clearly  ^7  tireiy  automatie 
magnify  the  view.  Assorted  views,  and  simple  in  op- 
scenic  and  Freaeh  actresses.  Pitied  eration.  Each  box 
with  ring  to  attach  to  watch  ci^a^-.  contains  five  or 
3 VIEWS  to  each  charm.  more  magic  artkffes  and  complete  instroc* 

No.  8585.  Bone  Ooara  Glam  .Aw  t*ons  for  performing  the  vsrtoua  laMa. 
Chirm  Pr«.15  ^ ^2Sc  Uo.  Slot,  Cqto  TrijU  Pr«»i*  Off- 


No.  8705.  Coin  Trieks.  Prepaid  gl  Ff  _ 
No.  8706.  Magic  Bet.  Prepaid. 

No.  8707.  Card  Trlcka.  Prepaid. 

Or  all  three  numbere.  AlSsi 


Lumiaotto  SkntaltMi 

A real  startler.  A b^ 
Jointed  figure  n alette* 
too.  12  inches  bi^  lhal 
emits  • ghasthr  rndtaaes 
in  the  dark.  Not  a prettf 
sight  but  a 1^  Ihriu  pro* 
dueer.  Give#  yott  dm 
creeps  wheii  you  I&WW 
about  it— but  a real  sur* 

Erise  for  ihoae  who  com# 
pon  it  unawaree. 

No*  8612.  LuosInoiiB 

skeleton.  t CSa 

Prepaid 

$ for  40e 


ferent  tricks.  Startle  and  entertain  ym» 
friends.  No  skill  required.  ^ 

No.  8709.  Wtsardeck.  Prepaid 


Cigarettebaaga 


A combination  pipe,  cigar  holder  and  Here  boys  is  THE  novelty.  Box  con- 
novelty  view.  A bottle  shaped  novelty  tains  a dozen  tiny  wood  pegs— but  they 
that  has  a scenic  view  in  the  top.  may  are  “treated."  Push  the  sharp  end  of  peg 
be  converted  into  a pipe,  a cigar  holder  into  cigarettes  about  1/3  in.  Pegs  are 
or  a cigarette  holder.  Made  of  highly  so  small  they're  invisible.  Then  offer  your 
polished  wood  with  aluminum  fitting,  friends  the  cigarettes.  BANG.  BANCt 
Stands  6"  tall  when  closed.  A useful  they  go  off— Yet  ENTIRELY  HARM* 
article  and  a real  novelty.  Assorted  LESS. 


Send  for  our  new  big  fell 
HarmoBie*  1 1 catalog.  Postal  brins*  It.  I 

The  smallest  harmonica  { 


The  smallest  harmonica  | 

made,  only  IH*  long.  L- — 

It  is  a practical  musical  Instrument  and  a 
popular  novelty.  Has  four  single  holes,  eight 
perfectly  tuned  reeds,  brass  plates,  nickel  fin* 
ish  covers  and  ring  to  attach  to  your  watch 


views.  French  actresses  and  scenic  pictures. 
No.  8599.  Combination  Cigar  Holder.  Prepaid 


7C.*  No.  8520.  Cigarett^aags  1 I Midget  Harmonica. 

•^IPrepaid  1 Preoald.  


SCIENTIFIC  NOUELTV  COMPANY,  -247  Greenwich  SU  New  York  City